when we returned

when we returned

when we returned

there’s thunder
rising toward heaven
and the children have gone home

rain is falling somewhere
across this sleeping world

the old man writes quietly
in front of the open fireplace

his sweet dreams becoming
clear as he fills the page

when he thinks nobody is listening,
he sings softly about faith and battles

now that we’ve grown weary of
imaginary joy, (we are fools)

we hear things unspoken

it’s only natural that the scent
of his wisdom
lingers on

2017 April PAD Challenge: Day 28

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Speak to me of thoughts unspoken.

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