The crocodiles are still sleeping and the memories haven't died.
We remember November,
the way it sat in front of the flames and told a story
of a mouse learning how to escape.
A waist sighs and I take hold of the telephone.
The voice on the other line remains silent.
Vacancy was the only language he knew how to speak.
So I take to the waves that thrash upon rocks,
speaking only in whispers because I have been
without a voice for so long.
The seashells have been smashed so no,
you can't hear this. You can't trace this echo,
this backwards spiral that offered an exit.
See how the stars shine even when you're drowning.
And when the sea rushes to fill up your soul, open
your lungs, let it fill you in ways they never would have.
And in that last moment before you embark
on eternal sleep, you will hear the waves sing
"you are loved, you are loved."
Infinite possibilities-A writer's guild
This is a writer's guild where all can gather for feedback and advice on all mediums of writing. Plus it's a great place for conversation.
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