The Touch of a Sound
Delicate sounds,
almost like whispers
gently claw
into my ears,
enticing me out of my sleep,
drawing images
on the canvas
inside my head,
dashing sleep
on the rocks upon the shore.
I search the landscape
for the disturbance.
I can feel agitation
climb onto my shoulder
as a growl
vibrates from my throat.
There’s nothing within sight,
but as the wind
shifts the fur on my back
mutters swirl through my hearing
seeming to
be brought from the mountains
to tease my eardrums
and bite at my imagination.
My mind
starts circling myself,
tension drips from my pores
and this incessant,
quivering of sound,
not heard by all,
rattles in my skull
putting unrest upon my feet,
making my cavern
seem like a cell.
With no rest for the wicked
I lope towards
the closest crops of trees,
in my distracted state
my attention
is back in the cave
and only when
the wild game
scatters
does the bulb come on
with my realization
that I am reverting.
Copyright © Mark Matthews | Year Posted 2008
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment