A midnight mass.
They gave us
five years.
No more. No less.
End date set
on baked stone tablet.
Graffiti on desecrated ground.
A black sun amid burning sky.
Lobotomised thoughts
no longer rise
like sunshine
behind the eyes.
The eerie silence
is so hard to describe.
No words were spoken.
Nothing breaches the surface,
not the gurgled sounds inside,
or the scratch of my pen
as I scribe. Our world slowly choking
and there is nothing we can do
to amend the tide. Just sit along and
try to enjoy what's left of the ride.
That eerie soundless night,
always night
now the sun is fizzling out.
I never enjoyed the daytime,
my skin more accustomed
to cooler air that night would bring.
But how I'd embrace a single sun ray,
I'd dance in its heat and stay for eternity.
I still feel the earth's heartbeat
but it's like a phantom limb.
The noise doesn't follow.
It stops dead at your feet.
No echo to the beat,
just the sound
of something
thin and hollow.
We didn't realise how loud it all was,
until the sound was cloaked
in the thick airless smoke.
A vacuum of noise,
no hummed tune,
no grind, nor cracks as we stretch.
Nothing. Not even the sound of a breath.
It's like death. But quieter.
That scythe doesn't shriek
like nails down a chalkboard,
or a chain link fence creaking in the breeze.
Just emptiness
and its cold lifeless embrace.
A dead space
where sound evades
even the sharpest ears.
Those five years...
Gone. So quick.
Now just oil slick blankness.
In my minds last glance
I see those brown eyes
as I close mine.
Thanks for reading
Follow this link for more.
https://linktr.ee/Wordsandfluff
You can find my New books
"Tales from the 44A" and "Stations
here
https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0DBKXPN13/
and here
continue to do this.
Peace, Love & Poetry
Kyle
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