The Prison of

© 2009 - Ben Heine
In A House of the
Lonesome Night

A poem by Peter S. Quinn

Down the streets where I'm from
A song comes easily to play
On the piano chords I strum
But nothing for long will stay
The days are like a river
In their calling and longing's fire
The voices of the wind shiver
While whispering to me its desire

In a house of the lonesome night
Love songs of my dreams away
Come in their fancy and flight
Each of their shading and lay
A love is man's truest giver
Of anything that comes and goes
And the poet their passions deliver
To give words that the wind blows

Down the streets there are no names
Only leaves that are dancing on
In flickering shadows and flames
Till the hours of longing is gone
Every day has its own true meaning
With life that clashes and unfolds
In ways of disclosure and gleaning
Every aspect of its living remolds