April 24, 2009
By Nechama Muchnik BRONZE, Brookline, Massachusetts
Nechama Muchnik BRONZE, Brookline, Massachusetts
1 article 4 photos 0 comments

When night slowly falls, like a tranquilizer, dissolving in saliva
When legs lay still, moving rarely,
Only to entangle in cotton sheets
When the eyes close, to disqualify the world from their sight
And the mind moseys away from routine and reason
The bloody fist, the source of pulse, bodily cadence
Continues to sustain this mass of being

Exhausted, persists to cascade life through every nerve and every vein
Engenders, every sentiment, preserves, every memory
In a rhythm

Distinct throbs
A morse code, designed for every unique individual
It's worth, is in moments
And without it,
Doctors carry their heads in their hands, as they approach anxious relatives
Without it,
Friendships vanish into photographs and letters
Without it,
Ghosts appear at bedsides, revisiting life, partially
Without it,
Black attire is required, on even the most beautiful of afternoons
Without one,
Many others are bewildered
And just one,
Can change the rhythm of the hindered

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