Flecks of colour in the night
Flickers of motion beyond sight.
The glory of memory
Of you and me. Of you and me.
Repetition of this ceremony
Beneath the waves of this sanctuary.
With a touch as cold as the altar stone
And bed a barren ocean where I lay alone
Within this dark. Where outside lights
Dance and tease just out of sight.
No heart’s comfort now you have gone
The hearth is cold within this home,
And in the garden flowers might
Crumble to dust; in this world turned black and white.
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
Made of sticks and stones 