The lights go off at nine o'clock,
the silence never ceases,
the choir children vomit
and every window freezes.
Flashbacks backtrack to the day
an adult once was hopeful,
their eyes so bright, so full of light, a timid shade of opal.
Their dreams were hats and singing dolls and coats made out of cotton,
but overtime their eyes turned gray and picnics were forgotten.
The lights go off at nine o'clock, the silence never ceases.
In losertown the skeletons
are claimed by their diseases.
-GS
YOU ARE READING
Once Upon a Rhyme
PoetryThis is not a poem, it's a cry for help This is not a poem if it can't be felt This is not a poem for you to tell This is my poem. This is my hell. This will be the end of me This is the sway of the willow tree This was the way that you looked at me...
