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This is a love poem, of sorts, about a person who loses their love in the fall of the Tower of Babel, a story of languages and creation, separation and disaster, though there is always hope.


When the tower fell,

I lost her,

Towards somewhere 

A thousand years gone,

In a rapture

Of gluttonous crashing,

That became everything 

As it ripped us apart,

Changing our tongues,

As we shouted each other’s 

Names into the cacophony

That took us all,

Dispursed us, 

with the wind,

Into the world.

I looked for her,

Though I remembered, as

She let go of the last

Of my fingers, 

That she shouted her love

In words I could never know,

Though I might try.

The tower tore 

our recognition 


As we parted


With the storm.

I remembered her, 

How we’d sit in the sunset

Together, after our work

Was done for the day,

Taking solace in the last

Rays of sunlight,

The cold that came 

After the hot, hard day,

Embraced us, As it

Healed our sun-scarred skin.

When the dust cleared,

I found myself alone,

I stretched my legs,

Took up my chisel,

I knew that all I could do

Was wander the world,

Until I found her again.

I knew that though we 

Could never know each

Others words again,

We knew each other,

We talked in motions,

Eyes communicated 

In flashes of emotion,

Unrecognisable to another.

One day, we would

Find each other, 

We would walk,

 together at last,

Speaking words

That could not 

Reach our ears

But knowing,

Truly, what lay within 

Our reconstructed hearts.

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