The Sound of Time
is not the click of a clock,
nor the caw of a rooster,
nor the melody of your snoozed alarm,
nor the chime of the school bell,
nor the droning of traffic,
nor the thud of embracing your bed,
nor the clink of cutlery at dinner,
nor the tick of light switches flicked off.
It is silence,
the burn of nothingness
that encapsulates minutes
like a fruit stretching
to surround its pit,
the inaudible hum of days
slipping into oblivion
like that same fruit falling,
opening, merging with grass,
with earth, with the foundation.
4 thoughts on "The Sound of Time"
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“like a fruit stretching / to surround its pit”—brilliant!
Thank you!
ah yes….”the burn of nothingness
that encapsulates minutes”
Happy you liked it!