Read My Lips |
Silence,
at the end of the table. They just aren't as keen as they once were. They sit, waiting for a sound to be swept up and carried inside. But the wind these nights is quiet, and still. Maybe it was the roar from the jets as he trudged across borders, protecting a country insistent on making the same mistakes. Coming home to find himself stranded, deserted, among all the people he loves the most. What happened to man down and why are we powerless to stop it? They miss the click of his pen from the morning crossword puzzles, and the afternoon news that remind him the world will always be one step ahead of him. But most of all, they miss the song that wakes him from his armchair. Only this time, the other line rattles with vibrations. They imagine its happy birthday Papa and that maybe it's just as crooked beautiful as they remember. They can't hear the words that tumble out of his mouth to whisper I love you, but even with a broken record player, the words still ring true.
0 Comments
Soft hands pry open crooked doors to see
if she is still there beneath heaps of light. Lost in time, stuck on a coffee stained word. She moves over, so I can feel her heat. When creaky floorboards squeak and windows flee from dull latches, darkness sneaks in and bites. Her soothing voice chirps-she is my songbird. She combs my wet tangles, being discrete to catch any drops before they run free. She's there when fragile things crumble and night time feels long; when innocence becomes blurred. Soft whispers to try to always stay sweet. You won't want my help when you grow older. I will - should have meant it when I told her. |
AuthorPlace to channel my passion. Archives
May 2021
Categories |