For Those Who Wait

It’s empty

Your quaint, silver cigar box.

It remains this way, now you’ve gone.

The house still shakes like your toolbox used to,

Windows shivering and doors racketing

From the shouts of Aeolus.

 

As if you’re there in the walls,

Admiring my every move

Wind chimes voicing your thoughts

In a language I do not know but,

your presence is my comfort

In this world of new.

 

Earth’s stones crinkle under pressure

A door unlocks, the windchime stops

The draught dies down and silence is found

As an unknown figure approaches.

And in his hands an elegant bouquet.

...

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Finn Carroll
Apr 14 2020

7
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