The phone wails at 4 a.m. and the wave hits,
with the force of a violent tempest
I take the blow...to stomach, to chest, to heart
Silently screaming loudly to drown the words
Outside, alone, I ask for signs of life in a murky sea
A lyrical, tinny sound surprises me
The song of the music boxes you gave
or only wind chimes on a windless night?
Led to the front of the church, eyes upon us
we sit on red velvet and listen to a life reduced to words
the ocean inside me that has raged for days
is miraculously still as if a godly hand has raised to calm it
At home, the coolness of the hard wood on my forehead
as I fold upon the floor
does nothing to relieve the crashing, the breaking
as the waves rush in and out...
pulling broken bits of me into the deep.
Mar 2, 2013
Mar 2, 2013 at 5:14 PM UTC
The phone wails at 4 a.m. and the wave hits,
with the force of a violent tempest
I take the blow...to stomach, to chest, to heart
Silently screaming loudly to drown the words
Outside, alone, I ask for signs of life in a murky sea
A lyrical, tinny sound surprises me
The song of the music boxes you gave
or only wind chimes on a windless night?
Led to the front of the church, eyes upon us
we sit on red velvet and listen to a life reduced to words
the ocean inside me that has raged for days
is miraculously still as if a godly hand has raised to calm it
At home, the coolness of the hard wood on my forehead
as I fold upon the floor
does nothing to relieve the crashing, the breaking
as the waves rush in and out...
pulling broken bits of me into the deep.