Les Frances de la Tour Eiffel by Marc Chagall Les Frances de la Tour Eiffel by Marc Chagall.
The Confession by Sir Frank Dicksee The Confession
by Sir Frank Dicksee

The Secret

It just happened, he said, lamely,
Staring down at the floor.
The pathetic confession admitted, at last,
He gave a sigh, relieved that the secret was out,
Hesitantly lifted his gaze to meet her eye,
And glanced, as she did so Towards the door.

Except for their breathing, there was no sound
Though the birds still sang in the garden
Which they both had loved,
The children still ran in the streets,
The world, alien now, still spinning around.

He thought of days spent, in this room,
The frosts of winter, the freshness of Spring
When they had loved beside the fire, and lain
For hours, lost in their dreams, happy together.
How could it end, that so strong, so very deep,
Profound, biting and loving, joy of love
Of lust, an intricate tapestry, once so beautiful,
It's threads sewn with love, now crumbling to dust.

Standing, awkwardly, actors caught in an inelegant frame,
His silent pleading, please, let it be, as it was
Put the pieces together, again.
She met his eyes, her gaze was cold
The dark pools stared through him,
A stranger's eyes now, seared into his soul.
Their coldness chilled him, filled him with fear
He stood, on the edge, at the end of the world,
The abyss, below.

Somewhere, far away, a train cut the night,
Their love, a cadaver upon a mortuary slab,
Their lives, dissected, weighed by the pound
Found to be valueless, worthless, coldly assessed.
His eyes met hers, briefly, recoiled at their hate,
Each minute an eternity, desperately seeking a token,
A man, drowning, seeking a sign of those shared days
Now dead, this room, abnormal,
In it's very normality.

When she was gone the silence rushed in,
It just happened, he confessed, to no one there,
He sat by the window his head in his hands,
Silently weeping, in her favourite chair.
The night closed in, shadows of grey,
Light, turned to charcoal, at the end of the day,
Begun in hope, optimistic belief,
But the darkness came creeping
And stole his light, like a thief.