Perhaps try again, next week around ten.
A symphony of rain descends outside,
pause between each drop to hear the others fall.
Time stands still, yet the clock still ticks,
and tocks its hand around the timeless face.
A croaky voice, tears carving mountains
into the back of the delicate throat, the whisper,
like a dry, desert wind, trying to entice the voicebox
to speak. Utter. Breathe. Life into the lifeless words.
'We cannot cater now for your mourning.
Perhaps try again, next week around ten.
We'll see if we can shift around the morning,
find a time to suit, your break is around then?'
The phone feels cold, like a knife against the ear,
warm skin, the Ice Queen breathes in her chill.
'We cannot cater now for your mourning.
Perhaps try again, next week around ten.'
Kalikapsychosis
Australian Traveller
Flashes of memories
glad you like! everyone is so consumed by the business end of the world that they don`t take time to look at the emotional side and no matter what goes on we just have to plough through each day... only in those dark hours when we are alone can we allow it all to wash over us!
Ash
Movies and Life
From The Home Front
Enviro Warrior
Dream Herald
Esoteric Bookshop
oh how I also know this voiceless groan, and to see it written here, also trying to escape anothers throat into the loudness of a business day?
It just SPEAKS VOLUMNS!
Echoing Tracy ...
Bravo (standing ovation) *clapping* ... encore