In the doorway.

In the doorway.


I could live a thousand years she said, with her head laid on the cross.

She arched her back and read my dreams straight from my mind.

She held red roses to her chest, her other hand held mine.

I found the church deceitful and the mourners chose to stand.

She recited all my tear drops whilst that hand was in my hand.

I felt the rainbow capture the figure in that old doorway.

Capture for eternity, capture so she’d stay.

She captured all my promises like needles in the hay.

The tears stopped falling fluidly her hand had turned to ice.

The figure in the doorway moved his hand and rolled the dice.


© G.P Williamson 2017