A Cage To Hold My Dreams
Nothing But Darkness
I come to Sherrardswood to mourn you
My special angel from a distant nebula
As songbirds preen themselves in the trees
And dragonflies skip over tall unruly grasses
Bees drift in and out of the wildflowers here
Like children stuffing leaflets in letterboxes
But you are dead. We agree on that point
It makes no sense at all to me, but you are dead.
Yes, dead, when you should be joyfully alive
Not dumped in a bag like grass cuttings
Until, burnt blacker than gunpowder,
Your ashes take flight upon chill February winds
People saying goodbye to you must have thought
I was a bit crazy, greeting them at the church
Dry-eyed as if it was just an ordinary Friday
While they shuffled their feet and sobbed openly
But they couldn't see the paralysis in my brain
Or hear the long, silent scream in my throat
Or sense that I had a murd'rous urge to push
My fist through the bones of someone's face.
You are dead for reasons I cannot comprehend
And if a dozen sanguine old professors
Tried to explain it to me in simple terms
I would not understand a single word they told me.
With tears blurring my vision, I stroll along
The quaint little harbour near Shoeburyness
Where we walked often arm-in-arm, stopping
Along the way to applaud the symphony of the sea
It was here that I touched your lovely breasts
For the first time, as the white cliffs blushed
And where I hid and sulked when you said
That you intended to leave me, possibly for ever.
And it was to here that I brought you to celebrate
After the misunderstandings were cleared up
After we'd come to our senses and admitted
That we couldn't fight it anymore, that love had won.
Now that you are gone, beach walks at sunset
Tide changes and the holiday smiles on faces
Of people in small yachts are as meaningless
To me as waking any morning to find I'm still alive
If I put a sea-shell close to my ear I wonder
If I might hear your voice from inside it
Humming the tune of Cracklin' Rosie
Or giggling like a little girl who thinks she's funny
Now that you are dead no more shall I caress
Your tight little stomach during the night
Nor pretend to sleep when its my turn
To be in the kitchen brewing the morning coffee
Never again will you sit with the sun on your hair
With our neighbour's cat on your lap
Or get face powder over my dark blazer
Or suggest my mother joins us for Sunday lunch.
Nevermore will you walk across the high country
Calling out to me because I've wandered
Too far ahead of you, or asking politely
If I remembered the waterproofs in case it rains.
Not ever again shall I be held by arms half as loving
As yours, nor dare to love another woman
Because to suffer like this for a second time
Would destroy me more surely than a nuclear blast.
Thirty years might sound like a long time but when
The images are placed in line, as each year
Follows the one before, they pass like frames
Of a silent movie galloping through a projector.
What is left for me now that you are dead ?
Now that you cannot hear the wind sighing
Now that you have no more kisses for me
Or opinions to give, or secrets hidden in your tongue
The answer is nothing. My brain is cold and damp,
Sheltering in a doorway, pinned between
The poetry and the madness. Now you are dead
I see only the silence, I hear nothing but darkness.
Hertfordshire 210296
My special angel from a distant nebula
As songbirds preen themselves in the trees
And dragonflies skip over tall unruly grasses
Bees drift in and out of the wildflowers here
Like children stuffing leaflets in letterboxes
But you are dead. We agree on that point
It makes no sense at all to me, but you are dead.
Yes, dead, when you should be joyfully alive
Not dumped in a bag like grass cuttings
Until, burnt blacker than gunpowder,
Your ashes take flight upon chill February winds
People saying goodbye to you must have thought
I was a bit crazy, greeting them at the church
Dry-eyed as if it was just an ordinary Friday
While they shuffled their feet and sobbed openly
But they couldn't see the paralysis in my brain
Or hear the long, silent scream in my throat
Or sense that I had a murd'rous urge to push
My fist through the bones of someone's face.
You are dead for reasons I cannot comprehend
And if a dozen sanguine old professors
Tried to explain it to me in simple terms
I would not understand a single word they told me.
With tears blurring my vision, I stroll along
The quaint little harbour near Shoeburyness
Where we walked often arm-in-arm, stopping
Along the way to applaud the symphony of the sea
It was here that I touched your lovely breasts
For the first time, as the white cliffs blushed
And where I hid and sulked when you said
That you intended to leave me, possibly for ever.
And it was to here that I brought you to celebrate
After the misunderstandings were cleared up
After we'd come to our senses and admitted
That we couldn't fight it anymore, that love had won.
Now that you are gone, beach walks at sunset
Tide changes and the holiday smiles on faces
Of people in small yachts are as meaningless
To me as waking any morning to find I'm still alive
If I put a sea-shell close to my ear I wonder
If I might hear your voice from inside it
Humming the tune of Cracklin' Rosie
Or giggling like a little girl who thinks she's funny
Now that you are dead no more shall I caress
Your tight little stomach during the night
Nor pretend to sleep when its my turn
To be in the kitchen brewing the morning coffee
Never again will you sit with the sun on your hair
With our neighbour's cat on your lap
Or get face powder over my dark blazer
Or suggest my mother joins us for Sunday lunch.
Nevermore will you walk across the high country
Calling out to me because I've wandered
Too far ahead of you, or asking politely
If I remembered the waterproofs in case it rains.
Not ever again shall I be held by arms half as loving
As yours, nor dare to love another woman
Because to suffer like this for a second time
Would destroy me more surely than a nuclear blast.
Thirty years might sound like a long time but when
The images are placed in line, as each year
Follows the one before, they pass like frames
Of a silent movie galloping through a projector.
What is left for me now that you are dead ?
Now that you cannot hear the wind sighing
Now that you have no more kisses for me
Or opinions to give, or secrets hidden in your tongue
The answer is nothing. My brain is cold and damp,
Sheltering in a doorway, pinned between
The poetry and the madness. Now you are dead
I see only the silence, I hear nothing but darkness.
Hertfordshire 210296
