The night consumed by silence;
presence has disappeared with the days.

Sleep becomes the hope; the heart
absorbs what the mind could not endure.

The air becomes cold and heavy upon the lungs;
the pillows stained from someone’s tears.

Death appears in a dream; unspeakable
words echoes in the darkness.

The morning sun casting faint shadows;
memories hovering in the room.

Spirits of “what was” forever tethered
to “what is” left of our souls.

Published by David W. Jones

David is a writer and blogger who enjoys creating literary expressions about everyday life. He is a published poet and currently doing reviews, creative writing, and storytelling. David's interests include narrating point-of-view scenarios, documenting non-fiction, and writing scripts for film and television. View all posts by David W. Jones