Ghazal Of The Morning Call

The east burns with the sun's outstretched grace
I climb up to it on still lace.
Where I cannot see her, I see death,
Wherever I cannot see death, I see her face.
I walk in a roofless hell of ennui
With a weeping heart full of dawning grace.
There are no falcons in this looming sky
Yet the clouds still prey on my eyes lost in a haze.
I promised myself I would hear the morning call
But O all I can hear is her voice across time and space!
She is not lost to me, nor is she distant
Yet the way to her heart is an Egyptian maze.
The time she turned her head away from me
Is etched like moonlit knives across my face.
The temple of Apollo might as well be the temple of lucifer
For either worshipers are lost in a burning daze!
I will try once more, to hear the morning call, ah but Alas!:
"Justin, the east burns with my outstreched grace."