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
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