We search the soulless faces for a flicker of recognition.
Glaring into empty eyes, lips twitching we watch in anaticipation
Listening to the unsung words of their soul as their lips move
and their voice echos past us, a melody perfectly played.
But the tune is empty like the empty faces and empty voices
in this lonesome over crowded world of ours. So we search
unconsciously, ears prickling for the sound of cymbals being
harmoniously crashed together. All we hear is the high pitched
twang of the triangle, we keep moving, forever moving, the
triangles sound ringing in our ears as we walk past them..their
eyes speak of no secrets shared and their voice is a whisper
in the crowds, we walk past them, searching for the cymbals
when it is the triangle that calls.
Karen Hayward ©2016