Web of Loneliness Poems

Poems of the Lonely

The Sound


A BANG OR A WHIMPER: it matters not.
The sound is gone.
No echoes of voices in vacant lots:
The silent dawn.
Rain on a pond and the cry of a dove,
Like melodies poorly drawn.
‘Though music’s no longer the stuff of love,
The insipid ensemble plays on.
The silence of lyrical voices,
Lost in a life lived too long.
The vacancy of our choices,
Everything’s played out wrong.
The pain of a life masqueraded,
In a world where we sought to belong.
We find that our fortunes have faded,
Our lives have been sold for a song.
The sound is gone.

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