July 25, 2015

the day moves slowly
thick like humidity of the day
the quiet fairly undoes me
feeling strange in its’ presence
touching my muse lightly
like the faint tinkling
of a tiny bell

barely swelling to loudness
just there at my shoulder
touch, touch, touching me
softly…like a fairy
amused at my being undone

so it goes the day lingers
my muse listens with me
to music from the radio
calmly waiting for me to respond
as the quiet undoes me
creative crescendo gone

File Taken From Morgue File & Digitized