Shrine

Past the gate cold to the touch
Over the threshold of needle and rock
Into the starlit hall of windthrown pines
And across the marsh in its veil of white
On and on towards the glare of the shore
Until the even and calm forest floor

Through the shroud of fevered sleep
I hear the walls absorb the door
With the twisting of the windowsill
Shards of glass come bursting in

Here is where warmth once lived
Where days were spent confiding in
The unyielding hope of things to come
Of which there now survives none

I lie and I wait

I lie and wait and the air stands still
I lie and wait, it shall not be long
I lie and wait for our reunion
This design soon shall reach completion

At last I watch the roof collapse
The weight engulfs the room below
In a cloud of dust the last light drowns
Swallowing the air within

I can see it now
We are almost there

Here is where through toil and strain
Rest can quell all woe and blame
Here is where now stands a shrine
To that which shall never die