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Rated: E · Poetry · Dark · #2002489
A story told in verse focusing upon sounds primarily.
My alarm clock is blaring.
Its sound is so near.
The click of the switch
fills up my ear.
The pillow is loud
as I pick up my head.
My feet pad the floor
when I sit on my bed.

The floor boards are creaky
when I make for the door.
A switch clicks to life;
then a click one time more.
A flush and a faucet
I hasten to go.
The switches again
stumble stepping too slow.

Feet plod on a stairwell;
bacon fries in a pan.
The clock chimes the hour;
we must hurry if we can.
Doors slam and close up;
The car roars awake.
Gas, gears, and gravel
on the road we must take.

Talking and laughing,
a phone sings its song.
I say we are late,
but we shall not be long.
Then a squeal and a scream,
a crash and a horn.
Sirens are wailing
to a scene most forlorn.

Voices address me;
where is my pain?
Squeaking and creaking
and doors close again.
Sirens sing briefly,
many voices around.
My pulse keeping time
with a faint beeping sound.

The tune of my heartbeat,
It skips here and there.
Then the tempo goes wrong;
people shout everywhere.

The clamor dies down;
the time is called out.
Wheels squeak down a hallway,
no more bustling about.

I hear a door close
but my ears do not fill.
This room is so quiet
this room is so still.

There are no sounds hereā€¦
this room is so still.

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