Empty rooms echo nothing—
peace it would be, were a heart not tremulous
beating the drums of unwanted silence
wait, wait, wait.
And there’s a chasm there—
bridged once, then fallen from disrepair,
leading the stolid to their deaths in the dark,
falling, falling, falling.
Shored up from sheer collapse,
beauty hangs loosely from the crumbling wall,
singing tiny lullaby chants,
tadum, tadum, tadum.
Sun waltzes amidst the silent storm,
glimpsing, blinking between the shadow and breeze,
patience but a timeless cement
tick, tock, tick, tock.
And the seasons pass, generous captor—
another day of silent traipse,
promising always to move in cycle,
talk, talk, talk.