Decrescendo

Tired voices fill the air

leaving buildings, restaurants, taxi cabs

Glaring at the orange-yellow streaks

as they collide above -

colors dancing, 

telling their own stories

Soft whispers heard by those 

who are willing to listen,

reminding us of somewhere more peaceful

Silence creeps it’s way over spaces once filled with chaos,

skin softly kissed by 

what’s left of the sun,

bodies delicately wrapped in it’s promising warmth 

Darker skies creep up, 

silence intruding every space

every place 

once filled with too much noise 

And only as the lights dim and the curtains close 

am I reminded:

tomorrow is not always a promise