London Poem: Day 308

21 June

Gather sound to form a
Noise that mimics speech.
So little shared during
The passing days, it’s difficult
To know if I’m still breathing,
As each breath gives less than
A whisper, and all turns to dust.
Oh, to send wide, looping sounds
Between another is all
Humanity needs sometimes.

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Published by

keelancrampsey

In flux

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