Winter. First frost, yesterday. No snow yet.
I have the little tape recorder, and a cassete.
I look up at Venus rising, bright, pink far above.
Is this madness? Is this hope? Is it foolish? Love?
I still carry the limp from the wreck. You are gone.
I still hesitate. I am still afraid. Must act before dawn.
I sit against your gravestone, and I press down “Record”.
Hoping to hear your voice, that same haughty chord.
Voices of the dead are silent, but can be captured.
The veil of Charon can be torn or even raptured.
I want to hear you again, know you linger still behind.
I want to hear you again, say the prayers for peace of mind.
Sitting in my room, getting ready to play the tape back.
It’s a hope for a faith and dream that I will always lack.
Will your voice came quite and proud, as in our mad life?
Will it be fear that comes, torment, caught in purgatory strife?
I press play………..