Sound

I poem relating to sound, music, an old passion.

  I'm sorry you cannot hear me,
absent sound,
though my lips move,
through them you hear nothing.

  So you can't see me,
no crystal ball,
as I pass you feel the shift in the wind,
but the room is always empty.

  Alone like in my past,
stored away in dark spaces and locked doors,
I close my eye's,
wishing all away.

  Slowly I fall,
waiting to hear glass break,
this room I have made still untouched,
unbroken and sealed away.

  Yet I hear,
see and feel sound,
but through it lies the truth inside,
the reason I keep living.

Author's Note

This was written in 2008, a piece deleted from myspace transfers here.