It is the triangle that calls my name.

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