SOUND OF LONELY
than the tick-tock of a clock
when love has died.
Shrouded in shadows,
like swaying sentinels
the house sighs emptiness.
Quiet save for the clock's tick,
measuring each moment
of desolate doom,
what once was a house of love
is now a mortuary.
Copyright © 1995 Ruth Gillis
published in the Winter 1995
issue of Feelings
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