…of silence

The day is coming to life
with all its breathless sighs and pretty murmurs
subtle chimes adrift upon the wind
birds crying out of the shadows
taking wing into the skies
as the sunrise creeps in
and swallows the fleeing night
these ancient rituals, this endless cycle
the colours bleed into the horizon
once again, the coolness of midnight
the moonless, timeless black, is left behind
but the clouds in the hours of loneliness
in the echoes of silence and the darkness
are never out of sight, nor ever far from mind
© Ann Bagnall