Hark! The rhythm

Hark! The rhythm. The pellet drum rattles. The dance begins. The creation, the annihilation, the fleeing in-betweens, and beyond these appar...

Saturday, June 4, 2016

On silent streets

A stuffy airless June night,
nothing resonates outside,
no leaf ruffles, no crickets chirp.
Some dreams are being woven
comfortably on sidewalks,
in soiled vests,
mosquitoes buzzing around
sweat-stained faces,
hands and feet calloused
and hearts cauterized
with labors of the day;
while we perspire,
beneath the shade and comfort.
And when the weather will shift,
cold winds will shuffle the leaves,
freezing the veins,
and nibbling the fingers and toes,
these dreams will weather that too,
unflinchingly;
while our coats will numb us to our souls.
On silent streets,
some dreams find happy homes in hearts,
while we wander.



7 comments:

  1. Your phrasing is wonderful, excellent word choices.

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  2. This was wonderful. Like Tara mentioned, your word choices are fantastic, as is your pacing. ❤️

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  3. You always create such fascinating pictures!

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Since every thought is a seed, I am looking forward to a delicious harvest.