26

When, banished is the day
I fall to Nocturne's cradle of unrest,
a shroud of white noise befalls me.
And your voice, indecipherable, although-
vociferates in my head...and leaves me cold
And your face, the fragility of your smile
half-obscured by memories decaying into fiction.
Oh! I swore I heard this voice before
and beheld this face!
On the wrong side of heaven,
where the cruel-hearted angels are exiled to
with wings of a raven which has frolicked in the snow.
And your eyes like chalcedonies, flashed back at me
drinking in the bitterness I thought only I could see.

© Florence Challender 2010