The Hour Of The Return Poem by Robert Beksinski

In the cold frost of the morning twilight

Your voice echoes like a distant drum

Calling out incessantly, declaring your love

But your feet fail to carry you where your heart yearns

Desperately running towards your destiny

In the moist dew that lays across the morning grass

I walk away, trudging through my sadness

Promises of forever burn in the sunrise

But even silence comes to an end

The thunder of your cries rips through the air

My legs stand paralyzed, I turn to see you

And all I can do is smile, finally smile