The Ring
Just the ring.
Day in and day out.
My landscape changes.
The birds go by. A train passes.
I see them chirp. But no chirp sounds.
I feel the rumble on the tracks.
But no whistle blows.
Life passes me.
Vibrant, beautiful life.
The sweet smell of wild flowers.
The cool drops of rain on my skin.
The color red.
Life passes me in a surreal pictograph.
Always accompanied by the ring.
Always incomplete.
Sometimes when we talk,
I think the pitch of the ring changes,
And I wonder if I’ve heard you.
If sound is real.
If it’s not some idea dangled before me.
A cruel joke from the world, that everyone is in on.
I feel myself cry from the warmth of my tears on my skin.
From the taste of salt on my lips.
But as I sit there, Alone and crying,
All I hear is the ring.
Day in and day out.
My landscape changes.
The birds go by. A train passes.
I see them chirp. But no chirp sounds.
I feel the rumble on the tracks.
But no whistle blows.
Life passes me.
Vibrant, beautiful life.
The sweet smell of wild flowers.
The cool drops of rain on my skin.
The color red.
Life passes me in a surreal pictograph.
Always accompanied by the ring.
Always incomplete.
Sometimes when we talk,
I think the pitch of the ring changes,
And I wonder if I’ve heard you.
If sound is real.
If it’s not some idea dangled before me.
A cruel joke from the world, that everyone is in on.
I feel myself cry from the warmth of my tears on my skin.
From the taste of salt on my lips.
But as I sit there, Alone and crying,
All I hear is the ring.