She watches TV until she falls asleep.
He takes out his false teeth and lies in his chair.
The dog lays half-on, half-off on her bed.
I listen to streams and play games.
But right now I am at a loss.
We carry so much noise to our beds
That it is hard to believe most of us sleep
In silence. But I notice it when
The floorboards creak in protest or the
Crickets fill the void of sound.
I think about when it stops,
When a person is gone and their sound
Goes with them.
When I die, will I carry the sound
Of rain and music, or does that
Sound lock into the walls regardless
Of who takes over the empty space?
YOU ARE READING
The Beginning To The End
PoetryI've never been a poet, that much is certain, but I can tell you that it does get written. A lot. These are the collections of my poetry I've written, and some of them hit hard for me.
