The Driest Place In The World

When does the ghost begin to fade and lay to rest the blame?
For I have haunted far too long these God forsaken ways,
And down the church, the rooms and halls so maddeningly still,
I wait for her to pass again, right through me with a chill.

And that is all and my full force falls short to turn her eyes,
She shudders when my ghastly form slips  through her skin divine,
But then she glides away as I stand stricken yet again,
The coldest pale that marks a man who lost where he began.

The bells now ring, the women sing, and God is on His way,
The clergy wear their finest suits, while by the doors they wait,
I drifted past the man erect whose face was somewhere else,
He never saw my shape or even glimpsed the way I felt.

Today we’ll have the finest wine and drink the wells till dry,
The silver plate will touch us all, and we will all comply,
Oh Hark, yes Hark, the angels sing for she has now arrived,
A princess in the whitest gown, the pure and fairest bride.

And now begins the ritual, the damned futility,
The calling of her name and yet she never looks at me,
Before we die we never know the pain of standing by,
I wish that I had never known her warmth, her touch, her eyes.

The song has now reached its refrain, the chanted line, the crest,
And I don’t think God ever came, despite what all was said,
The Pastor stands to speak the praise of his accomplishments,
“We captured God today my friends, He’s ours, we own Him hence.”

The clapping now abates; the cheers subside to some degree,
I glance across the meeting hall to find her eyes on me,
My God, dear Lord, how could this be, she turns as if she’s seen,
Yet tries to hide the roses now that blossom on her cheeks.

I rise, I run, and laugh with joy, up through the aisle rows,
My God, dear Lord, how could this be, I think this time she knows,
And passing through the final seat I reach and touch her neck,
She shivers with the slightest move and pulls her jacket tense.