Soul Ballad

alone he dances, arms poised
to embrace his demons, all of them
slaves to the lonely, lonely waltz

deaf to familiar lyrics, familiar
only to an isolated pulse, they succumb
five feet under with hardly a sound

sadness soaked into the carpet,
regret blasting from a sole speaker,
shadows swaying slowly to the despair

in slow circles, pale limbs posed, in silence

chin raised, closed eyes,
still heart

they captured him, alive
in the viewfinder, with bated breath,
in a monochrome world

a fixture to the window, behind his lonely throne,
unmoved by worship, pleas,
or sorrow

time flows, streaming, like
rays seeped in from drawn curtains,
poured into the cracks of stone-cold skin

like blood rivers of fallen statues, hollowed,
forgotten do the drops of light cascade
down his face

it is as the sun fails to rise,
and he falls, soundless, that he wonders
if this is the right side of heaven

yet feet dragging along in the uncertain
silence, still they dance to the soul
ballad that never ends