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Aug 2020
The melodic hum of Nothing
        sits atop the air,
droning on and over,
untethered to terrain or horizon;
It drools unceasingly-
         a chronic, abject symphony,
Ignored by the bustle of birth-
though subservient
               all the same
        To the unabated, morose consonance

The world will not wait for me.
A bit more 'academic' than my normal poetry...
Vale Luna
Written by
Vale Luna  21/F/Michigan (USA)
(21/F/Michigan (USA))   
268
     Bogdan Dragos and iixiixixvii
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