The Sound of Leon's Footsteps

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Listless gaze out the foggy window
Raindrops shatter at a single touch;
the sound of Leon's footsteps
I don't want to remember
These aged, weathered hands have seen too much
and not enough
Fingernails once varnished ivory and delicate pink
cracked and chipped, wearing away at the sides
My mind retreats
This window once carried my nostalgia in its fog-smothered eyes
Of children in their frivolity,
growing to become beautiful men and women
but it now harbors only the enmity for myself
Ceaseless rain, an eternal lament
days spent in solitude
Wrinkled hands with crooked fingers
comb through silver-gray tresses
And I can hear a hollow echo of Leon's voice
a poorly-preserved memory
colored pale amber
Tears manifest in these glassy, cold eyes
tracing the wrinkles, the lines, every crease of remorse
until at last it falls to my lap
Chapped, lonely lips choke out a dusty whisper
the unavailing imitation of his song
It was once filled with pleasant memories
from these desolate lips, it is no consolation
only a hollow reminder
of what had been lost
Oh, Leon…
Fog-clouded windows whisper things to me
and sing to me of beauty
These weathered hands feel rough and calloused
no longer soft or supple
Raindrops trace tears along the foggy window
a parallel in my melancholy world
How long it's been since any has come to see me
to be here with me
Downcast eyes commiserated with these dry lips
finding some kind of satisfaction in my sorrow
With painful hesitance and unsteady rhythm
the melody poured from my lips
but it wasn't enough
Endless rainfall; my pain intensifies
the sound of Leon's footsteps
I don't want to think anymore





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