the art of words that fall onto pages from nowhere
glass echoes in ice cold hollows
sounds loud but absent to our ear
I hear you speaking but see nothing
nothing really becoming clear
falling transforms the still standing
beneath the line I cannot cross
haunting whispers beyond the curtain
pre-emting inevitable loss
twilight becomes the weary traveller
invites rest for tired dreams
cascade silkily into sanctum sacred
sleeping silences velvet screams
Copyright © Di11y Da11y | Year Posted 2023
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