8Thirty
Quiet as kept,
I crept by the door where my neighbours are sleeping.
Stepped on by,
I think I overheard select whispers of a movie still speaking.
The silent disrespect,
My ears are erect,
Intruding where there’s no right to be peeping.
Metaphorically speaking,
There’s a gate we’re socially inept of leaping.
Introducing ourselves to the theme of silence broken by creaking.
Cracks in the walls where defiance of security comes leaking.
My ears are tuning into a day of the lives of some strangers weeping.
I know their lives behind four walls and a closed off ceiling,
Probably better than any friends and family that they’re still seeing.
The plot lines come with twists I’m privately critiquing,
And I jot rhymes,
Following every line repeating.
Until now,
My technique broken but somehow still keeping;
Pace.
Poetically I’ve now removed my very own base.
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