The radio shattered the silence
of a Tuesday morning.
Peanut butter sandwich, drenched in nostalgic folly.
The echoes never liked Sunday.
Waves crashing against the verbal shoreline.
Did he ever hear the whispers calling?
I remember a song that should not exist
like the taste of thunder.
Lullabies beneath the surface of reality,
stitching time threads together in melodic chaos.
The crunch of autumn leaves
bloomed between notes unplayed.
Sometimes I hear the echoes of voices unspoken, glitches in reverberation.
I could never sing, but my heart hummed
a frequency untethered to moments past.
Unknowing, unknowable chorus of time dissolved.
Fingers on keys, summer’s breeze
drafting an anthem of broken realities.
Like shattered glass, superbly symmetric in their peculiar beauty.