If only I could tell you how,
Those treasured words we spoke tonight,
Your voice, your words resembling a beacon new,
That keeps my course true, and my bearing straight to you.
You said, “Around your ankle is a rope,
That I keep to draw you back to me,”
Through I try with all my strength and hope,
I try with all my might that be.
That rope, I hold so taunt, stretched so tight,
Be it savaged, beaten and weathered by time.
That precious rope through time grows slight.
That rope, that cursed rope, even longer grows.
Drifting me farther, farther from your heart,
The fire that burns, so hot, so bright
Still burns in my bosom deep and bold,
Your words, your voice, your image,
Those still hold my heart.
That rope, that precious cursed rope,
which you say I hold.
Tis not mine to pull,
But thyne to haul,
To save my sorrowful soul.
6 May 2006