The Malady
The malady
Knocks on my door
The hall is empty and bleak
Dark doors keeping secrets
I tape a spoon against a wine glass
Its plinks sings from room to room
Looks for and outlet
Settles like dust on book shelf
As residues of unspoken words
I hear children in the street jubilant voices
Pain subsides
Get out of my chair slowly, a battle won
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