There was a knock at dead of night That started me from sleep. My make-shift bed at end of yours Complaining with a creak. And yet the house was very still. The shadows very long. And our bedside clock was ticking, As it had done all along. Ticking down the hour Letting every minute bleed. Inevitably inching, To the moment you would leave. There was a knock at dead of night. That thundered in the dark. A summoning despite the hour And yet no dogs would bark. No other soul was roused awake. And no alarm would sound. Yet still a knocking I had heard Every haunting, nagging pound. Who then sought this entry? That roused me from the deep? Declaring that your time had come So that you would take your leave. There was a knock at dead of night. It dragged me from my bed. A rapping loud and clamorous Enough to wake the dead. Yet nobody was shook but me, As quietly you laid, Not stirring but for shallow gasps, I’d heard for many days. Was this a sign you had more time? And given a reprieve? Even though I knew the knocking Meant by morning you would leave.
How Has It Come to Be This Way?
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How has it to come to be this way, I question in my waning years, A life amounts to such decay? Despite the toil I give the day, Lashed by all my desperate fears, How has it come to be this way? While godless I still kneel and pray, Demanding why, with shameful tears, A life amounts to such decay? And yet the winds …
The last stanza was received by the heart, and so were all the lines. What a beautiful piece of poetry.
I really love this, excellent work! Mysterious but direct, hypnotic and haunting.