The Will.

My favourite shirt that holds secrets
I’ve yet to share,
the white one with embroidered lace
you cherish,
one thousand and fifty six records
not played since 1999,
the books owned from age fifteen
collecting dust

And spider’s webs
are yours to keep.

My written words of capitulation
hide my true worth,
the sudden depths of loneliness
you will search,
the music of my mind disguised
in free form,
your tears tattooed to your face
freezing in time

Lullabies confide
mine to keep.

The sound of all your tomorrows
withdraw to slumber.

© 2009 Michael J. Earnshaw