I heard his calling from the den;
White noise in a black world
Heavy on the light wind of night-time shivers,
A piercing noise that ruptured drums
And moved through mountains of cymbals
To reach this dead-end
In which I reside and hide my pride
Away from the looming sights
Of mothers, father, brothers, sisters.

I heard his calling from the den;
I rose to greet the disturbance
With an air of impertinence
Whispering to the vibrating atoms,
‘Who dares disturb my sentient silence?’
He replied with a deep sigh
Hung aloft the moon’s shine
I caught it as it floated by,
Tucked it into my own mouth
And breathed in all he had amounted to
Feeling the perpetual presence
Of sensations unaccountable
As it fell through a tunnel to my lungs
Where it stung
It hung on to branches of breath
Loitering in a sweet unrest
Speaking to me for once
In a language I could comprehend.

I heard his calling from the den;
But now he speaks from within
Swinging across arteries and veins
Reminding me of feelings gone to waste
Where melodies had been discarded in a haste
Before their songs burned notes into my chest,
He digs through the garbage of memories
To find his true place
And there he paces within my breast
His heaviness begging to be held
Each footprint an echoing vibration
Of a heart aching for reconciliation
An orchestra blazing in a cold auditorium
The audience captivated
Not by the music but by his crying.