Glass is shattering at this present moment.
Shush! Can you hear it?
It’s the spirit of a fallen man,
A cry for aid.
But no one hears the broken shards.
No one hears its impact against the mighty wall.
No one hears its tiny remains make sympathetic keyboard notes.
Formally a stout Vodka bottle
But now a million reflections of a lost man.
Its contents comfort him,
A deceiving console.
So, can you hear it?
The spirit of a fallen man?
It cries out in a melancholy plea.
Shush! Listen and you might faintly hear
The muted screams.
© 2011 by Charles Banks, Jr.
Writing as BLACK ANGEL