Night Poem

By

It’s pitch-black,

apart from the street lamps,

smeared from being too close.

it’s all been silenced now.

no words squeezed beside

and I drop my feet –

slack down.

the bells chime,

twelve times

and every note pushes

something in-between.

I don’t know what it is yet.

I think I’ll catch it,

but then we’re left

flying again.

 

Image via Pixabay

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.

 

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.