Sawdust

Living behind glass, or etched into its surface
Clouds heavy with rain roll across a deepening sky
Their shape passing through lives that begin and end with the waking
Stories without meaning told in the language of silence
Talking in circles while darkness rises overhead
An empty hall that will soon be filled
A table spread with the weight of feast
Dams built of sawdust to keep the hopelessness hidden away
While voices fill the silence and fear its return—
Somewhere in this glass world, living in these silent journeys
I can just make out the blurred edges of my own reflection

Image by TanteTati from Pixabay

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