how months and years can pass me by and leave me yet unchanged
the pain an open wounded heart unburied still remains
and all the feelings flooding back that sweep and let me fall
amid the ruin of my grief a closed and empty hall
i pace the room and think of you then try and try to sleep
my wearied eyes and aching hands no task that calls can keep
and when i shake the tempest off and finally look 'round
a week or month has passed again but nothing have i found
i hate these little deaths that come without the dreams of sleep
without the end that calls to me for which i sometimes weep
the waking from them leaves me cold and lost and deep in dread
that years of this may come and go - much better to be dead
but it is not God' way i'm told and all the sages say
and so i wash my face and try to face another day
the mirror shows me growing old an empty room behind
an empty house an empty heart a closed and empty mind
these lines are all i find to lance and let my feelings out
to let my grief and ageless loss become a silent shout
this scream perhaps will echo from some distant valley wall
and find a way to break into a closed and empty hall
