Friday, October 3, 2014


How we crave for the sound of a loved one's voice,
how deep is the silence when we do not hear, that
ache, so hollow, devoid of echo, beating but out of
tune with the song that heart would sing; the notes

it would send forth, the chords it would strum, in
honour of the one who is so precious, so woven
through the very fibre of being, that there is no
true separation, despite the physical divide which

keeps us apart, as the bells toll sonorous and sad,
reminding us always that the loss of that tone is
something that will never be, or can be forgotten
and which will always be desired, here or gone,

even when there is a chance that it may not be
heard again, in that lilt of loving once possessed,
drawing together, two, as one, or even more, in
that way of being when people do surely belong.

Then the silence digs deep into the void of non-
being, striking sharp against the stones and rocks
of reality, bringing down the walls of possibility,
until, there is a place, where nothing can be heard.

No comments:

Post a Comment