The Truth of Love (Abridged)



Hello beautiful, lovely day.
These bags are full of nothing,
I hope you intend to stay.
You ask me how long, I laugh,
I point to the marble mantle,
There is a spot of darkened ash.
Stay as long as the ash remains,
And then you can go on your way.
I may have tricked you I say,
Although quietly so you did not hear.
Your lips turn up and you kiss me good night.
You'll stay until the darkened ash turns white?
My lips turn up and I kiss you good night.
The days pass and give birth to years,
A spot of gray by your ears,
And every day that soot is the same,
And every day you look for a change.

You ask me how long you should stay,
Has that blackened ash indeed turned gray?
Do you really wish me to remain,
I nod and smile and my eyes notice,
The sadness in yours, I lean into kiss you,
You may have tricked me, you stop to say,
But a promise is a promise and I'll stay until the day,
That the ash on the mantle turns a wonderful gray.
Then, my dear, you can go on your way.
You don't kiss me goodbye, not at all,
Not this night or the next, and we move into fall,
The seasons pass and give birth to years.
Only now there is more gray behind your ears,
And every day that soot is the same,
And every day you look for a change.

And while you are crying
I ask you to sit; you may.
I feel my dear that you have overextended your stay,
You point to the marble mantle,
But my love the ash is not gray!
Nor will it ever be, even on the earth's last day.
You have tricked me I hear you say,
You mean to tell me the ash will never be gray?
No my dear, so you can get along your way.
You kiss me goodbye, hard and long,
With blood on my lips I sing a silent song,
As you are walking out the door,
Your hair is now a silver color with good reason,
You leave me and I count the seasons,
Then seasons pass and give birth to years,
I can't hear anymore with these old ears.
And still the sound of nothing remains the same.
But I sit next to the door, hoping to hear you for a change.

I'll still be here when you return,
Only I'll be the ash on the mantle,
Graying inside of my blackened urn.