The afternoon drew lines across a room that neither came nor lost.
The light came in at just the tilt,
where silence gathers what is spilt.
But every quiet asks for sound,
some rests are meant to not be found.
I sat inside that golden ray,
and simply had no words to say.
The dust moved slow,
like thought unformed,
a hush that kept the corners warm.
No curtain stirred,
no page was turned,
no part of me was being burned.
But every quiet asks for sound,
some rests are meant to not be found.
I sat inside that golden ray,
and simply had no words to say.
The light speaks soft against the floor,
it asks for nothing,
only more.
The clock did not announce its pace,
it only watched the shifting space,
and in that hour's
quiet fade, no feelings begged to be conveyed.
And
on every quiet asks for sound, some rests
are meant to not be found.
I sat inside that golden ray,
and simply had no words to say.
It wasn't peace or even pain,
just light and breath and no refrain.