The Silence Is Tangible
The cold air grips at my lips for survival
As the night slowly pours over the land
Sleepy stars playing peek-a-boo with forlorn clouds
The broken moon tilts and wanes
and shadow puppets contort
and dance in delight
Sounds stretch and yawn
and fold the air around me
The silence is tangible
The death of night
wraps me in its weathered cloak
hidden from the nightmare day
Icicle skin and unforced tears
Wind blows with history filled dust
of gone and yet begun
but nighttime feels as home
until sunlight kills the rest
and another moment born
Copyright © Christopher Quigley | Year Posted 2019
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