Tick-tick, rings at my ears.
Chirp-chirp, the bird sings.
Will I ever hear it again?
Buzz-buzz, the bee stings.
Crack-crack, the twigs break.
I can't hear it again.
Sound-lifeless or maybe life-soundless.
I can't hear anything,
its driving me crazy.
I can't speak either,
No one will hear me again.
Are they crying, because I am dead?
Are they breaking inside, as I am broken?
Because they will never see me again?
Dig-dig, they say to bury my coffin and make me deaf.
YOU ARE READING
Coruscate☄
PoetryPAINTING IS POETRY which is seen but not heard. POETRY IS A PAINTING which is heard but not seen. -Leonardo Da Vinci . . . Coruscate (...
