Our hearts are cold as we stand in the rain,
awaiting your appearance in windows again,
limp squelching limbs, our feet don’t belong,
it’s a sensation that’s thriving in weather gone wrong.
Heavens above bring tears and snow,
no coats in moments leaving nowhere to go,
stuck to the spot we’re looking vacant again,
for your face to be calling through windows of rain.
Clasping our hands, blowing warm air,
into fingers stripped and numbingly bare,
we look across time and up to the skies,
waiting for your beautiful windowy eyes.
Stamping our toes, jumping invisible spiders,
tiredness arrives as our arms fold tighter,
to the thoughts of the sun breaking long rains,
so we can see you once more in your windows again.
Emptiness creeps upon our lonely brows,
we’ve made it through winter, weary somehow,
still no sign of our melodic visions in song,
as we desperately wait in this weather gone wrong.
Upon our graves we will await and declare,
we shall stand here forever in a state of despair,
for we need to cease and grieve eternally pained,
whilst awaiting your appearance in windows again.
© Nick Hawkins, all rights for the poetry are reserved 1/7/2008