Silence all around
The stars on the steppe
As I shine my beacon
On the hardened earth,
Trying to sense my way
Back to the home
That really isn’t mine,
But is mine for the time
That is kept on the watch
I keep in my pocket.
Nothing can be heard
From the two-story house
That holds many more
Tales than you would
Perhaps expect it to;
Unassuming red roof hosts
African wallpaper in
The side room and windows
Adorned in Christmas lights.
Crunching steps break
The coolness in the air
As I hear distant whistles
And the occasional
Barking of a mangy dog,
Not looking to provoke,
Only to protect,
Unaware that my presence
Is only temporary.
No life on the street,
No life in the homes,
Only myself as I trip
Through overgrown weeds
With spiked seeds
That stick to my shoelaces;
The creaky gate not quite
So boisterous this evening
As I lay my head down
And join the rest,
Perchance to dream.
Composed 07/27/2012
Author’s Note: When darkness falls upon a small village, and nobody is out and about, the silence of it all is one of the most interesting sensations one can experience. It does seem that the sounds follow you, though, as you shuffle your way home.
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