The Moth

He is silent
in his thoughts
even when
I ask a question;

Tall in red
and denim, pensive
and peering through
glass and structure.

I get lost
outside of
that box
of vision;

When the colors
reveal themselves
to him and mix
with his chaos;

When the lights
of his life keep
flashing their lumens
across his sight;

When eyes shut
can’t keep out
the overwhelm
and tension,

(And sleep
is a bird
caught in
tornado’s mouth);

My voice
fades into
the noise around
his atmosphere.

He moves into
a different light
as I find
the shadows.

He is silent
in his mind
when I want
to know his heart.

Copyright © 2018, Sheyorah Aossi

RassouliSoulsJourney
Art by Rassouli

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