Silence
like morning fog
over a late sunrise.
Like a discarded novel
beside half finished tea
and cold buttered toast.
Like a last breath,
a released hand,
and my unfinished prayer
beside dad's bed.
Silence
like morning fog
over a late sunrise.
Like a discarded novel
beside half finished tea
and cold buttered toast.
Like a last breath,
a released hand,
and my unfinished prayer
beside dad's bed.
There's different types of quiet. Some easier to handle than others.
