Monday, March 15, 2010


I can hear its muffled tempo in the low and solemn wind
Serenade so slow and somber on a distant violin
Invisible the infantry, a countless, mournful mass
I bow my head so I can’t see their numbers as they pass

Their sorrows trickle like black blood down an eternal hill
Or icy shards in frozen floods that cannot melt until
There is reconciliation for each one I can’t forget
As they mock in exaltation, this vast army of regret

Two hands cannot cover my ears, my eyes, my heart
Like scars left by a lover it seems all must do their part
To taunt me and tear at me as they march in single file
Over frozen hills of memory in a cold and hopeless isle

But then, above the mournful strain of dull and echoed curses
I hear a second violin which suddenly disperses
The long and hopeless melodies of sorrow and regret
It beckons me to lift my eyes beyond these mounds of dread

And there upon a glimmering hill I see in tones of red
The darkened earth where blood-drops spilled and heaven’s tears were shed
Tears to wash away the grief of guilty sinner’s debt
Love’s song to offer sweet relief to armies of regret

All Rights Reserved
Janet Martin

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