Rustling, there were papers rusting
being rearranged, noisy papers
on my mind together with lists
lists of shopping, clothes and shoes
and then I thought I heard a chair
being dragged across a floor, whose
chair, whose floor, nobody knows.
Shuffling, there were feet shuffling
as if badly fitting slippers were worn
moving in an annoying way, shuffling.
Moaning, to top it all I hear moaning
Is it me? My voice I hear moaning.
It should be, I have enough to bear.
What with shuffling, dragging and rustling.
There will be scraping next.
Sliding the sharpest of nails down a
shiny blackboard, a screech of a sound.
Oh no I can be definitely found
complaining.  Go back to where you belong
I do hope.  Drag yourself into the never-never.
You know the no man's land of bad hope.
The place where silence is apparent, no life.
Where silence is golden, till they all start.
Creating. Silence is a lovely word.
And the dark should be a peaceful place.