Magazine, website & books written by teens since 1989

It's quiet...too quiet

The tick-tock of an ancient grandfather clock
The drip-drop of a leaky faucet
Driving me to brink of insanity
A band of crickets play a horrid melody outside my window
Is anyone there?
Where did everyone go?
I laugh aloud at nothing in particular and wait
The notes of my voice rise to kiss the ceiling
Creating an illusion of a filled room
I stare at the white washed wall
To see someone
Anyone really
The white paint remains still and mocks my mournful mood
Leaving my heart hopeless for companionship

Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

Site Feedback