THE SOUND OF YOUR DESIRE TO LEAVE
I don’t hear the wind chimes
The wind chimes that used to be hanging from a tree.
The same tree that whispered love
When its leaves rustled in the breeze.
I don’t hear the sound of the children
Creating games in the playground
The same children destined to be artists of the world.
I can’t hear the creek
The creek where the clear vibrant water chuckled over the rocks.
I don’t hear the chirping birds
The sound of waves
Or sweet madrigals.
I don’t hear the Song of Songs
where Solomon glorified the love and desire for his beloved.
. . .
The colors have faded
The sky has lost its blue
Only the howling gale persists
And the ominous sound of your absent soul.