The silence is deafening; the pause, lasting.
Thoughts starving in a fruitless brain, exhausted…
dragging toward each other,
only to die before they fuse into coherence.
There’s nothing to say, no tears to shed;
no one to blame, nothing to regret.
Owning, and knowing in dreadful peace.
Exactly where you are supposed to be,
with whom you’re supposed to be,
doing what you should be.
Your life made by design, of your own.
No reason to weep, no fingers to point.
Crickets in the night, and the mute silence of nothing but a keyboard.
By tuttysan © 2009
Between the ears poem. Photo: Racoon River, Des Moines IA.