Yearning

silence
lifts soberly through this long dark night.

the quiet within
crescendos with loss.

yet,
in this mad symphony,
a fugue of hope draws close:

a slip of wind here,
tugs tight at the door-
a sprat of rain there,
slaps gentle to the ground.

Dear Tempest, I see you, so
do come quick,
and howl away this calm
with fury
& audacity, and
what needs yet be done.

I collect Spores, Molds, and Fungus. View all posts by nomisyar

Originally published at http://thedeprevation.com on November 10, 2023.