Thursday, March 22, 2012
The Bluest Sky
The bluest sky is not as beautiful
As years I spent in hope of what I know
Not still. For every hour you did not come
My heart, so close to breaking, did not lose
The belief that what eludes me may yet
Be mine. A drowning sailor clings to hope
That land’s not far. And so it was with me.
And now it’s clear that you will never walk
The way that leads you homeward to my heart;
I still may choose to wait with lighted lamps
To guide you over the bogs and fens, but know
You will not come. I’ve wanted crazy things
Under the bluest sky you ever saw:
When it’s over, the sky is reward enough.