Thursday, July 4, 2024

Water tower April 10, 2012

 


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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