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Poetry, Europe, UK
THE PHOTOGRAPH .
By David Burt.
I awakened rather early from a strange and fitful sleep
And glanced toward the clock whereby my darling's photograph I keep,
My bleary eye did focus, not on the clock, but her,
The photograph did fill my eyes, whilst around, the room did blur.
She sat there staring at me from out of a gilt edged frame
And in the silence of that room, I heard her call my name.
Gently, firmly, calling me to an appointment I must keep
Arousing, and yes disturbing my somewhat fitful sleep.
I closed my eyes and lay a while and listened to that voice,
There was no doubt I knew it well, it was my darling Joyce.
The realisation awakened me, my eyes did open wide,
I slowly turned and searched the room, fear gripped me from inside.
As my gaze traversed that lonely cell, the voice did call me still,
Firmly and persistently, those words my mind did fill.
The lonely echo of my name resounded in my head,
A cold strange breeze blew round the room, but disturbed me not in bed.

My gaze was once more drawn to that gilt edged picture frame,
And I swear I saw her lips move as once more I heard my name.
We then had a conversation through the power of the mind,
As I gazed into those eyes, so soft, so brown, so kind.
The spoken thoughts were garbled, but there meaning, crystal clear,
She reassured me that all was well and that I had no need to fear.
Her smile and relaxed posture convinced me that this was right,
She told me she'd been watching me and understood my plight.

She understood the sorrow that filled my aching heart,
She said "Time is not forever, we won't always be apart."
The longing that is within me welled like aq lava stream,
The agony poured forth from me in a long, yet silent scream.
That soothing voice kept calling, bringing peace to my tortured brain
"We shall get back together love, we shall be one again."
Her love flowed through my being and filled a great abyss,
I reached out, picked up her photograph, and gave my wife a kiss.


Copyright © David Burt 2004

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