Festival

poetry speaks

The village volume rings loud.

With cheers made of screams

and drowned sorrow,

there's joy.

The village boasts it's chest proud,

thump.

The greatest sound made of life falling

and rope swinging,

thump.

Light from candles

in every nearby window

giving the biggest voice,

the loudest bark.

Silence.

Tiny flames flickering,

swaying several shadows.

Faces lit

but emotions dark.

Silence.

Drip drip drip

Hear the sound of the festivals

main chorus.

On stage with a song

never prepared,

one without life sings.

Drip drip drip

The w****s and thieves talk,

just as proud

but not as loud,

as the preacher hanging.

Drip drip drip.

This is the village of demons

known as the city for humans.

Told by the boy with no voice

nor home with a candle.