March

on a bench during lunch, 

I came to the stark realization

that every sound was a layer 

stacked atop the other.

the cars were a pounding 

the birds,

a shriek 

and the people, 

a clatter

only the breeze- 

the breeze was a soft shuffle 

making the climate bearable 

the contrast was rigid 

and my sinking was stale 

I can’t bear being your breeze 

I can’t live as subtly as the spring 

– Sheila c 

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13 thoughts on “March

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