In your wake,
In your silence,
a subtle soundtrack
swarms my head.
The melody of beeping monitors,
The rhythm of knuckles on bed rails,
And the verses, pitched in pain.
They only grow louder, still.
But, grabbing at the void
for any last sound of you,
I hear the wind rushing by
as the world just keeps turning,
I hear the cackling of atoms
that never stopped their motion,
I hear the grass strands
rudely displacing your plot’s dirt,
And reality itself popping
as it rips apart at the seams.
Truth is, I thought I’d feel silent without you,
But it’s grown louder, still.
