Through thunder I hear the bells,
clear and consuming.
I am cautious,
you are kneeling,
I wander past as if it is none of my business,
but your gaze gallops after me,
soon you are back at my side,
the question becomes more of a command and through the thunder I hear the bells.
The bells are joined by shaking chains.
I am Marley’s ghost, in August,
you have your affections, that you spring on me,
dragging my disapproving glare with them,
until I am on the floor too,
tired eyes to pleading eyes,
and you ask something so simple,
You ask something so simple of someone,
knowing it will always be a “no”,
and I can hear the bells, through the thunder and through our tears.