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is Sep 2023
The rusted mailbox
creaks as it’s pried open,
dented door dislodging.
Two yellow balloons
tethered to its post
and bobbing in the wind,
stark color against a slate sky.
The bomp bomp of the balloons barely
heard over the wind’s whistles.

Empty inside.
It’s Sunday
after all. Too easy for you to forget
the day when days
amalgamate into one
long moment. Stuck in an
everlasting condition,
waiting for the day
when your mind
at last
is quiet.

A quiet
that comes when your hands
are busy. Too
distracted by tasks to
dwell on thoughts.
Jon Sawyer Dec 2016
In my old house
there seemed an old spirit
or maybe a mischievous mouse

I use to lay
in my old room at night
tired of the preceding day

The house would speak
tales of bomp, crattles, and creak
and here's what it had to say

"Womp, boop, dat,
flush, whoosh, and crack"
late at night the house would say

"Thud, crick, snap, whip,
Bang, Bang, Bang, blip"
laying on my bed this trip

And in the morn
when the old blinds were torn
here's what the old house had to say

"Pop, pop, pop, pop,
slam, nick, split, lop"
the old house continued to say

"Whack, ding, bump, splat,
hack, ping, thwump, flap"
wondering what made it sound this way

And through the noon
and into the night
my old house chatted all day

As I lay here thinking
I get the sinking feeling
that I'll start making it say

"Go to sleep and good night,
don't let the bed bugs bite,
I'll always have something to say"
26 December 2016
Diab did Nov 2013
I MiSs YouR HeLl

BeFoRe YouR HeAVeN

SHouLD we MeeT At SheLL ?

NexT by bOMp sEVENn!!!

— The End —