The tower haunts me,
awake or asleep,
a relic from another
century
that always reminds me of you,
rising high in the sky where I pass,
or even from place
where
I should not see it from,
a brick spike I pass
when I come to you
and when I leave,
symbolic of some deep
desire
I dare not openly express,
yet feel deep down into my bones,
ripe with the memory
of songs you sing,
with me a pathetic Hercules
or Odysseus
who must be tied to the mast
of my ship so as not slip into doom.
You, the unquenchable siren,
who resides just
north of where
the tower stands
for all the water this thing once held,
cannot satisfy this
thirst I have,
always there to
remind me
of what I want but know
I should never
possess,
always visible though
most vivid in those hours
when I dream deepest.
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