THE SOUND OF LONELY

Nothing sounds lonelier
than the tick-tock of a clock
past midnight
when love has died.

Shrouded in shadows,
like swaying sentinels
guarding ghosts,
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

Previously published in the Winter 1995
issue of Feelings

 

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