The notes rang true through the night.
The silent note, loneliness.
It sat at the base of throats, at the bottom of hearts.
The sun set, the moon shines, the world sleeps.
But the note still rings.
Bottle after bottle in the grave.
Memories drank too strong to be forgave.
We sit with empty eyes and empty glasses
long nights and not enough passes of too many cigarettes and to many forget its.
We are the lonely, silent note.
The world sleeps
we still ring.
our cries still sing. Bottles hitting pavements still ring
screams into pillows over sorrow still ring.
The world goes on.
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 1:37 AM UTC
The notes rang true through the night.
The silent note, loneliness.
It sat at the base of throats, at the bottom of hearts.
The sun set, the moon shines, the world sleeps.
But the note still rings.
Bottle after bottle in the grave.
Memories drank too strong to be forgave.
We sit with empty eyes and empty glasses
long nights and not enough passes of too many cigarettes and to many forget its.
We are the lonely, silent note.
The world sleeps
we still ring.
our cries still sing. Bottles hitting pavements still ring
screams into pillows over sorrow still ring.
The world goes on.
Request permission to use this poem