More Ryhme des mots

Moonchimes

I would so much rather they scream,

than allow silence to abide in all corners of our minuscule universe.

Trimmed down to be bite sized, the edges sanded and padded for safety.

Covering up the ancient tiles on the ceiling so as not to have to relive the past,

or any idea of a future less than comfortable.

Even the moon makes noise,

the sound that spoons on crystal makes.

Sparkling against the dinner candles that the stars light,

causing every detail on the wallpaper to turn their heads.

Inviting every guest who has said nothing yet, to write poems on their napkins.

I would so much rather we laugh in the face of irony, than be forced to reckon with the anxiety of our naivety.

Locked in a battle of wits and wiles for someone who comes at your dagger with a mace.

David and Goliath, except this time my high opinion of myself makes me the giant.

Stumbling along, assuming that heads will be turned like the wallpaper,

and tripping on the queens we assume are pawns.

"All is fair in love and war."

But love and war are very different when they take place on the surface of your nervous system,

and in the backs of your skeleton riddled closet.

I would so much rather we open our ears to hear the moon.