It’s 2 am and the street lights
are not working again.
Darkness sweeps the road outside
The familiar looking strange.
The curve of the bow, plucking music
from my soul. An aged soul
that wanders in and out of rooms
Listening to the soft breaths, the sighs
Of dreams. I want to hold on to
This weightlessness, the easy way I hold
Myself, silently sneaking through doors
Of my mind, and forget that sometimes,
I do not care to live any more.
Another very deep one! You are so good at the spare, evocative details . . . the street lights not working again, music plucked from your soul, silently sneaking through the doors of your mind . . . and that final devastating admission.
Thank you ever so much!!