Trapped in the Beckoning Silence

[tallonrk1]

Do you hear that?
A silky butter knife, cutting through melted glass,
Trailing off in the distance.
That is the sound,
That is the sound.

Do you hear that?
The muffled cry of a child in a street,
Cold—hungry—
And lonely—
And lonely.
That is the sound.
This is the sound.

Can you feel that?
A whitewash wind whipping by,
Ripping a slit in your ear,
Plastering on a stoic face
As you struggle to hold
Against a force much stronger
Than yourself.
Can you feel it?

Do you hear that:
A goat bellowing its call to the ever-frozen
Mountaintops
On a snowy, humid evening.
But there is no echo.
But there is no echo.
A scream in the silence unrequited;
A hope in the dreamless unrequited.
Do you hear it?
That is the sound,
That is the sound
Of a hopeless love.