I Hear Not

a trickle of melted snow
icicle on pine needle
breaking and falling below
an almost inaudible crack

flinching with the sound
too loud like a gun shot
in an echoing hall
resounding against the wall

that's the spoken words
of him, who said he was
the beloved of her
heard but not understood

reading lips not hearing
looks exchanged such fierce
subjugation of priorities
no names for it, just hating

indifference settled between them
holding but not touching
living on fantasy of changes
that tomorrow may bring

the tombstone was silent
no grief nor sorrow
not a single tear shed
buried now and gone

single shadow on the grass
shades of regret with sunsets
yesterdays gone never coming back
just echoes resounding

dying slowly down the hallway.