There are sounds we cannot speak
only listen to silently,
clinging to despair like an old friend
and imagining away the distance.
The lonesome call of a train whistle sounds through
the valley like an old friend.
The solitude I sought was always waiting for me,
here, right in front of my eyes so blurred with tears
I could not see it.
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The Spoon Cafe Journal – Since 1996
Spoon is a multi-author literary journal. A community of writers on the interwebs since 1996. We’re here to share stories about our lives, about our travels, about the people we come across. We’re telling tall tales and reading our journals, even telling some fiction. We’re giving away bits of ourselves and seeing through others eyes. More>>Subscribe to the Spoon
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