Sound of dreams drifting away

 

Raindrops

drip

on hollow

heart.

 

Plink.

 

Plink.

 

Plink.

 

The

echoing,

thin skin

like a

xylophone

trilling

a sound

that drills

into the soul

and starts

to pull

the pieces

apart.

 

The

 

sound

 

of dreams

 

drifting

 

away.

 

Rainbows sit

up in the sky

but downcast eyes only

look at the dirty ground

and frown

as their world feels

flipped

upside down,

like a needle has slipped

a groove

and the scratchy air

itches at the strings

of the heart left bare.

And the simple melody

plays on.

A detuned harp strummed

without love

or care.

 

The sky dances

with colour

and flair.

The music it

fashions from

the elements

in the air.

The winds whistle

swoops and falls,

as windchimes sing of love and all.

But the downcast soul

doesn’t hear the song

for his head is full

with too much noise of its own.