.The End.


The quiet is heavy,
beholden to the wait,
burdened by the levy,
of the slow weaving fate.
Turning Hand over hand,
refusing to subtract,
the deafening demand,
To add up what I lack.
Elusive when I want,
your need so deafening,
silence feels like a taunt,
each moment threatening.
Cannot stay where you left ,
the ground is uneven,
my chest bare and bereft,
casket closed on reason.


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