Sunday, August 28, 2011

Nothing to say -- Poetry

She’s worn out her words.

Redundant proliferation

watered them down,

washed away their power,

diluted any residual meaning.

Speechless she fidgeted;

tearless eyes wandered

stopping always on the clock.

Second hand raced past

minutes in a warped way.

Windowless room, two chairs,

end table, a phone, the door

and the pervasive clock ticking.

Electricity connected, its audible

workings hummed and lurched;

falling into its rhythm, her inaudible

workings only lurched slightly.

Idle phone had left her with nothing

to say; she’d worn out her voice…


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