Night Poem


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

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