Mark Matthews Poet Free verse

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.

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