Shuttered Sound

In this cool twilight

where we lay

and say our prayers

we grimace at each

sound that stills the

quiet moon.

The motorcade of misery

and bustle of metal cart;

these lashing tongues of

crunching words

bounce heavy on these slats.

Light plays against dark

without sleep

in its wide eyes.

I blink into the gloom

to recount

each retold story by the wise.

In this cool twilight

nestle deep into the

dreaming, ‘fore the

passing madness

finds a passing shine

upon the ceiling.


One thought on “Shuttered Sound

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