September 1, 2011

Broken rhythm of speech
Time, time
Sitting thinking of waiting
Words, words of wanting

It’s a Wednesday afternoon
It’s a midnight Friday’s kiss
It’s Monday morning stumbling down the stairs

We wait
With these words we wait

It’s springtime air with love,
Familiar embrace of December
Death and rebirth by January

Every day I count,
Every minute humming past,
That taking, the wandering, the wanting

New path this new year
Hours not minutes counted,
Snow in your hair this March freak storm

Too many empty days,
Late night questions of love,
Morning laughter over the phone

Broken rhythm of speech
We are a thousand voices, all wanting the same things
We are a long lost melody

Because with time, oh, time
Empty year,
New time, new day

We’ve all stopped listening.

The author's comments:
I made up this entire poem in my head walking down a crowded high school hallway by myself. It can be a weird experience- everything around you is voices, absolutely everyone is talking, but none of it's distinct. We all say the same things over and over again, like they change, because we're not listening; it isn't all the same. We let our voices blend into the background too often.

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