by TYLYN
*The Sound of Silence
The clear crack of broken glass cuts through the cool night.
It took time for the chiming to end, though it did quit.
So I rested with my mind a blank slate.
So I tried giving meaning to the question that is life.
Even with the brightening of day, the heart remained hardened.
There was crackling as a garden went down in the flames of arson.
I saw it as a “far sin,” one that’d never find me.
In a cannon, there was the run of what shan’t be banned, confrontation.
Touching the rough curls of hair on my scalp, Becky came to my thoughts.
Shouldn’t I be lost in those, still to nothingness, oh so clever, no?
Carmine and tangerine, amarillo y chartreuse, cobalt plus violet.
Feathers are at-once powdery yet shadowy, scentlessly exquisite.
‘Tis not ut a claim to frame the shame and blame it on a name game.
A rambling gamble, seeking jam for some column of “leafdrum.”
When I’m gone, I bet a “glassface” that I’ll win.
When you’re gone, you should bet a “blackflick” that I’ll win.
Whatever that is, so, so scatterbrained, but tamed.
The ravings of a mad man really wrong, right? Partially tripping you up? Yep?
So, so far-gone, time climbs away, leaving what’s inside to thrive…
Feels weird to say that, but hey, it’s somethin’ alright.
Just the sounds of a silent mind amidst plotting, not quite to insanity.
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