The songs unsung
These are times when the ringing bells
become the whisper of gold,
times when silence is a chewed spit.
I hear that night unfolded the sky
as it searched for her queen.
Midnight puzzling along the box of day
trying to break the rules of dawn.
I know where they chew the sun for breakfast
and leave it's seed beside rivers.
Please, please and in peace let us bury our ears
with the loud mouth of death,
let us be like the wailing wind that knocks upon windows.
Mopping around the edges to soothe skins
and rid them off nightmares.
Shall our heads keep shaking,
and nooding to the stories dreams discarded?
Where fires burnt for fun,
and children danced in it.
With their arms eaten by hell
the rhythm is also one we all have heard
as they are chewed by one we all know has lived-life.
©2016
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