Where words cannot breathe

He took a breath, yet no words came.

His heart fluttered, only for a moment.

A drum, slowly beating life’s tune.

A song long forgotten, a melody tried and true.

The words began to dance and a fire turned blue.

His feet tapped and his body sprang;

His heart fluttered, his heart sang.

So he danced in the twilight, to a tune he could no longer hear.

And he was happy.

Summer’s Twilight

He sat and heard the crickets chirp

He waited and saw the fireflies dance

The sun set and he felt a breeze

His hand gripped the Earth, dirt cascading from his fingers to the gentle grass.

He took a deep breath and smiled, as he knew summer was at an end.

Should tomorrow come: A poem by Mike Cole

Crimson red fades to midnight blue

Caught in twilight, night wakes

Breathing, calculating, ever holding

Dreams stir and the world begins to turn

Shadows creep, daylight seeps.

Tomorrow seems so far, yet the first hint of morning’s light.

Morning. Morning has come and gone.

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