I wish I could tell you
how the sun reaches,
how the shadows crawl
on a Sunday afternoon.

I wish I could speak
of the pure white pavement
or the countless cars
behind the chapel.

If I could only tell you
of the beautiful people,
the beautiful souls…
But not today.

From time to time,
a broken mind cracks sensibility,
and sound becomes
nothing more than noise.

© Blake Leitch February 20, 2017