My Darling

Turn your pretty face to mine.

Steve Halama,

Darling, My Darling,
I am so sorry for bringing them home,
My devils and demons,
Which plant themselves in our souls,
Rot our wooden doors,
And paint the walls with splotches of pain,
Great Big Stains,
But this time will pass, I promise, again.

Darling, My Darling,
Cry, please cry, today,
So that you will not tomorrow,
Cry, please cry,
But do not let your tears mar our future,
As it is bright sometimes,
When the windows are shuttered, 
And we are warm and close together.

Darling, My Darling,
It is cold in our bed,
Come near, I beg,
You are drifting with the sheets,
Towards the edge,
Your pillow is damp, 
Don’t cry, please, don’t cry,
Turn your pretty face to mine,
And let me whisper dreams into your mind.
My side is soaked with sweat,
I was running in my nightmare,
From our house, on fire,
There was blood on my hands — 
You had left me to die.

Darling, My Darling,
The house and I are barely standing,
My face like its wallpaper,
Is now withered and old,
Is this another nightmare,
Where you have left us,
Me and the house,
To fade away with the horizon, 
So awfully slow.

Darling, My Darling,
Look at the stars tonight,
We were like them once,
So bright and so far apart,
But now that we have dimmed,
To a softer, gentle glow,
I feel we are closer,
On the grass, Under our tree,
That rises from the soil, by our grand house,
In a quiet valley of green.
I hear a river singing in the silence,
We will find it when the suns high,
And our future is bright — 

Darling, My Darling,
How I love you so. 
Stay in our home.
Never go.

Read more from Brian Culley

~ And Poetry After Dark

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