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The Phone Call |
The sound of the phone
ringing in my ears,
a strange voice
on the other end
like a roar of a distant storm,
a hurricane inside me.
The chill of early morning,
a pale light on the
corner of your desk,
the paleness of your face
so far away that I can only see
in the rearview mirror of my mind.
The voice on the phone
telling me how brave you were,
I know that better than this voice.
Reality recedes -
you have to come back,
I have no one but you...
I can no longer hear the voice,
the receiver slips from my hand.
Sun rays sparkle on the glass
of your photo on the desk;
I always told you
that you resemble Lord Byron
and he lived as long,
fighting in a foreign land.
The voice on the phone is hissing,
I yank the wire from its jack
and sink into black silence.
copyright 2008
Gedda
Ilves |
