The Tower of Song
You always come to find me here,
Across blackened heath,
And if the fires of hell rain from heaven,
I know you’ll come.
You kneel at the foot of this tower,
And you have such a voice,
One that promises so many lifetimes,
So many first and fourth and fifth and second chances;
And I answer you in melody
-the least I could do-
In a voice made of gold,
That floats down from this window like a fine coating of snow.
You’re so very much different to the women who’ve killed me,
There’s no poison in you,
No soft, pin-cushioned doll that you hide in your bag while you smile,
There is just you,
You and your voice;
And the song of an angel floats up at me from the ground,
A song made of wings,
Which could free me if I still sought freedom.
Picture credit/discredit: author's own work