The Silver Drawer

Awesome grief spelled out loud by choking silence-golden,

But may I ask, 'to whom does the voice belong,

The speaker or the listener?’

Nevertheless, the attention so claustrophobic,

I curl deeper into my fortress-nothing. Just an empty large void.

And I wait- waiting for shadows drawn out of the curtain,

The pale glow, white coolness of the moon

Casting out its lovely scent-colours

On the bridge of my nose-

So close, yet so far.

Then I wonder, when will my heart ever find its voice?

Numbness creeps over,

Cords bound by chords of despair-

Fatal sounds, precious melody,

Nor should it not be

Lest I be found one hoped by mirth,

Skirted about by merriment.

For so the silver drawer was drawn

And my voice flew out the window,

Hoping to search the world,

Find the words to give report.

For in its report, it finds the way home.

But till then,

I sit at the window, voicing ceaselessly

At the picture of my voice on the pale moonlight.                                                             

Reviews

[Frieda P]

Grief never sounded so lovely, muchly enjoyed this piece, nicely pen'd!

[Jane'a Bailey]

This is freaking amazing. No negativity here. You are AMAZING

[Opeyemi Jide-Ojo]

Thanks Jane'a.... i'm happy you like it.