Silence.
'
Can’t sleep
Frustrated, tossed blankets
Hours on hours
Too many worries for this boy’s head
3 am
Getting up
Lacing shoes
I slide the door shut behind me,
The cold throws itself at me
And I embrace
I think to myself, “It is so silent.”
Though I soon change this statement
My feet turn up stones, they clack and crunch
Water runs in the sewers below, a constant burble
And moths throw themselves at street lamps in a desperate attempt to reach the moon
thump
thump
thump
I take these in, I begin to observe these sounds,
always around, just now discovered.
Raccoons chatter and murmur nearby
Engines clack, retired for the night
A streetlamp clicks softly as it dies out
I now must see with my ears
I sit on what was just minutes ago a field
A rustle to my left
I imagine a leaf separating itself from a tree, grazing the grass below
A splatter up ahead becomes a story, one of rainfall earlier in the evening
Far off laughter gives me the image of inebriated teenagers in the forest
And through this I write their lives
A squeal, and I imagine the life of a squirrel,
Which soon ends by talons
I lie down on the grass
Close my eyes
A helicopter drowns out The Silence now, it is a monotonous howl
I try to imagine the life of a pilot
I wonder what he could be doing,
What keeps him from home
Does he have a mission?
Or, is he without purpose, like I am
Attempting to lose himself in the night?
I decide
That he does have a mission
I sleep.
Can’t sleep
Frustrated, tossed blankets
Hours on hours
Too many worries for this boy’s head
3 am
Getting up
Lacing shoes
I slide the door shut behind me,
The cold throws itself at me
And I embrace
I think to myself, “It is so silent.”
Though I soon change this statement
My feet turn up stones, they clack and crunch
Water runs in the sewers below, a constant burble
And moths throw themselves at street lamps in a desperate attempt to reach the moon
thump
thump
thump
I take these in, I begin to observe these sounds,
always around, just now discovered.
Raccoons chatter and murmur nearby
Engines clack, retired for the night
A streetlamp clicks softly as it dies out
I now must see with my ears
I sit on what was just minutes ago a field
A rustle to my left
I imagine a leaf separating itself from a tree, grazing the grass below
A splatter up ahead becomes a story, one of rainfall earlier in the evening
Far off laughter gives me the image of inebriated teenagers in the forest
And through this I write their lives
A squeal, and I imagine the life of a squirrel,
Which soon ends by talons
I lie down on the grass
Close my eyes
A helicopter drowns out The Silence now, it is a monotonous howl
I try to imagine the life of a pilot
I wonder what he could be doing,
What keeps him from home
Does he have a mission?
Or, is he without purpose, like I am
Attempting to lose himself in the night?
I decide
That he does have a mission
I sleep.