The Last Organ Grinder

The faint sound of breathing is heard in the silence of darkness where eyes gaze into the sky with tear-stained thoughts how still the moment the smallness of being reliving each sorrow from yesterday as a metaphor that stands on the edge of emotion looking into an abyss, feeling nothing awakened by a mirror of reflections that flutter in the background like the last organ grinder pulling his worn-out cart into the shadows on an empty cobbled street playing, though no one hears beneath the last lamplight as a quiet death of echos fade into the dim-lit realm to leave an after-image in the swollen eyes and a haunting sound of sadness that endures through the calamity of loneliness