White Heron

Your face will haunt me till the end of days
When sunlight darkens and moonlight wanes
When proud men fall to the pawns and thieves
When blackbirds flee from withered trees
As I crouch like a begger on hands and knees
Before before God and Allah and Shiva and Zeus
They will do what they must to a soul of no use
With no purpose or place through their heavenly gates
With a blank mind no other had seen fit to replace
Only a face with soft eyes and dark beautiful hair
With the voice of an angel and the devil may care,
What fate befalls of this wretched old man
Who found love and lost love and never again
Would the doves call from rooftops hung low in the spring
Or the white heron riverside ruffle and sing

For the earth is a dark place where deamons reside
Take refuge in hearts far too cold to abide
By the love and the tears that bled equally dry
Through the ocean and desert and tundra and sky
Through the children of men who walk idly by
In the darkest of rooms in the freezing black night
Through the valley of death in the absence of light
You will see me by chance if you happen to pass
In your flowing white gown blown by winds of the past
In the arms of another who’s face is obscured
In the arms of another whose purpose was served
I will stand by the mountainside counting the days
I will walk through the mire and rivers of grey
I will wait for you sleeping in hollows and graves
Your face will haunt me till the end of days