For the next
The Volume of Silence
Yet silence echoes eternally
Fill volumes that go for decades
It’s like everything
Is scrawled on fragile parchment
In a language neither of us
The End of Daydreams
You’re too late!
The time for play is over.
Gone are the bats and gloves.
Away are the ice skates and hockey sticks,
Football is a memory now faded.
The sunshine has been put away.
You’ll find it in the closet,
above the box of weekends,
next to the bucket rainbows.
Your playmates have disappeared,
locked in their dungeons.
You stroll down the deserted avenues
with your hands in your pockets.
Then, with your army of one,
you capture your own flag.