I, Barnabas

Midnight--

A hush falls through the melancholy halls of Collinwood

The solemn moon casts dark shadows over the placid stillness of the old mansion.

I, Barnabas, lie in deep sleep on my bed of purple velvet.

Asleep--but awake to your thoughts, your feelings, your desires.

Alone--but cradled by the presence of your mind.

I hear your call, I feel your yearning.

I know that you want me.  I know that you need me.

The oppressiong weight of long lost time

Lies heavily upon me.

The deepening gloom that covers me,

Binds me in my sepulchre.

I hear your call, I feel your yearning.

I must go to you.

I struggle to free the invisible chains that bind me.

I search in the embalmed darkness for a nebulous light

That will lead me to you.

I hear your call, I feel your yearning.

I am with you.

©1969 Charles R. Grean


Home   Poetry Menu   E-Mail