When we Talked

how far will you take this silence?
already, the quiet forest
is reclaiming our world of sound,
its roots snaking between
our crumbling grid of words,
said and swallowed,
leaves choking the cracks
between our failing sentences.

how far will you bleed this wound?
already, the mocking birds
have lost their song,
see them flapping their wings
against the purple sky,
a new lexicon
is evolving swiftly
in the hushed twilight.

how far will you stretch eternity?
already, by the time you turn,
if you return,
this canopy, but an echo chamber
for formless verse,
would have turned rotten
all that once should have been
spoken and heard.

this wound of silence
will bleed for all eternity,
all that will be
is an ancient wind,
licking its speechless lips,
remembering
how it used to feel
when we talked.

 

Linked to the midweek prompt at Poets United “Wind Power”