Silas Thorne's Journal

...Those words sprang out
Like bubbled laughter with no place to burst

When walking did we ask for you?

Racing back to eat our souvlaki
Selfishly you mocked our footfalls
With murmurings.

We have no pencil, thieving ghost!

Your precious tale tongue
bleeding and drying,
drifts into silence.
And only we scream.