cathtree

Under these cathedral trees where you rested before,
Next to the picket cage thats home to the whore,
She stays awake and waits for you,
With eyes that have gone dry and become a cracked blue.
I sat with her one day,
As her staring gaze watched the blades sway.
She told me how she wrote to you,
On the Saturday nights when she'd stay up past two.
Even then, after she'd probably faced the truth,
I could see in her eyes that she missed her youth.
Under those quilted clouds which I used to hate,
Next to the burnt down wick where we knew it was fate,
I slept with open eyes as I dreamt of you,
With my heart pumping dry blood that was cracked and blue.
I swear you called me one day,
But your voice was too bland and far away.
I told her I wrote to you sometimes,
On the Tuesday nights when my heart rhymes.
And even then, after the green blades had ceased their dance,
I realized I had never escaped from your trance.