Charles S. Ramsburg, Jr. reads
in RealAudio format.
The metronomic tick of clocks
Resounds throughout the darkened rooms
Like mouse feet clicking ‘cross the stones
Of some forgotten pharaoh’s tomb.
And failing light from last night’s moon
Upon my window panel knocks
Like ravens’ beaks upon the glass —
The metronomic tick of clocks.
I wonder why I’m still awake
As morning grey purloins the stars
And somber rain seeps from the sky
Like blood from God’s own abattoir,
And time breaks in a thousand shards
As both the day and night embrace.
I can’t remember why I’m here
Or what fate brought me to this place.
But ev’rywhere, I see her there,
Her pallid, fleshless face unwarm;
In ev’ry tick I hear her voice,
And ev’ry shadow holds her form.
Somewhere between midnight and morn,
That time so void of holy grace,
She frees her soul up from the earth
And comes to haunt this holy place.
And lost within this waking dream,
I live to feel her touch — so cold,
Like ice upon the window pane —
A woman scorned a thousandfold.
And as I watch the day unfold,
My tired eyes see fit to weep
As I observe her dark descent
Into her stony crypt to sleep.