Without Hope Of Redemption.... Poem by Eric Cockrell

it is then that we dance,
sitting hunched in silent contemplation...
without moving a finger,
perhaps it is in the eyes.
as leaves most certainly dance,
turning color awaiting the fall.
and old glass bottles turned on their side,
are filled with something we cannot fathom.
it seems saviors come and go,
while detours become some kind of destiny.
the only scriptures i know curl from chimneys,
to haunt the wings of nameless birds.
i am not alone, small creatures make good companions.
there are things they know that need no definition.
i sleep with mountains no face has seen,
and know well the scent of their longing.
do you love me, dare i ask?
my heart mows the grass beside your grave.
while cattle graze on silent hope,
and my fingers walk the grain of weathered oaks.
as hunger stands with a shovel and an axe,
and time pays the cost of heartbeat.
i love you, i do dare say...
without hope of redemption!