I Led My Love to This Cold-Echoed Tomb

By Hermann Miller

I led my love to this cold-echoed tomb
And rolls of doom following soon upon
Each door fast drawn behind rolled and were gone
To mould the wall’s unbroken pool of gloom.
Cool glowed the moonlight ere I closed the room
I chose to tomb, in stone and wood rough-sawn,
Against the dawn, my love, and hold her on
A scrolled stone drawn in gold pale writ with doom.
And when I’d laid her on that altar stone
Those echoes sank to stillness like a pall
Across the form and voice I once had known.
And crying out, I fled, not what I saw,
But all the tones the slow-spoke glooming hall
Boomed and reboomed to echo back my groan.

Though he is also learning to love the present, Hermann Miller loves the past, where pain bites less and joy is safe.

Photography by Kenneth Godoy

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