O the moon shone bright on Mrs. Porter
And on her daughter
They wash their feet in soda water

- T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land

A Game of Chess

The overcast at once o'ertook the sky,
Pushing away the dreary limelight
That rose with the eastern morn.
This is my world now, the shadows boomed,
And God himself in sadness wept
For all the days he could not help
But watch them fall asunder.
The tears fell down and smote the sea,
The sky was cracked by thunder,
And I in sadness also wept.

I don't have time to feel regret,
So don't you even dare suggest
That I should say I'm sorry.
I'm telling you, if I might do,
If I might do as might say you,
She'd end up crying even more,
And then you'd have your hands full.

And there, among the dreary glow
Of moonlight bouncing off the snow-
The cheap and bawdy moonlight
Sold in purgatory's pawn shops-
The Reaper walked upon my left,
And in his wake, the starry cleft
Of twilight peeped its fading face
Out from its lengthy slumber.

It fails me now to say just why,
But please, I am afraid to die-
I've known them all already,
Yet I'm still afraid to die.

And so at last the sun uprist;
It washed away the fog and mist
That came upon the alleyways
Thorough the fractured midnight.
Apollo made them weep for shame,
The shame of life without a name,
The sort that often comes about
From youth without ambition,
But all the tears were dusty, dry,
And not a soul besides could cry
For their sad fate, and so the smog
Blew down those lonely alleys.

My Dearest Annabelle,
I write
This final time, indeed in spite
Of all the recent circumstance;
I want to say I'm sorry.
Not any sum of words could do
To sum the wrong I've done to you,
And so I will not waste my breath
Attempting the impossible.
I trust we both should know full well
The rash extent of my misdeeds,
And so, I'll say it plainly now.
My dearest, I am sorry.

The final stroke of seven slipped
From out the Tower's crushing grip,
And dusk came forth to claim the streets,
The City, and the alleys.
The Prophets sang a lengthy prayer
To lay to rest the dying day,
And all around, the golden light
Crept quietly away.

10/29/07