The Numb

In the quiet part of the day all words were lost, the spirit numb. With our souls of straw we couldn't find the words to say; to comment on, these sad and solemn times. With our hearts of stone, we could not feel. With our legs of clay, we could not walk. We thought, with brains like bone, all was surreal. We could not dream; we could not talk. Perhaps, it was the dreariness of the evening sky; the basic drabness of the day where hard, long gray clouds transformed the stars to light-spangled streaks with stripes of ebony between. Just so, it was the brighter lines of the city lights strung out against the darkening horizon that reminded me most of love, and not the quiet numb. For, as the day grew long, and eventually so old and cold, it just felt like, this, by what we saw was first so new this morning, was meant to last. But it did not, and, I did not take it lightly. For now, it seems the day is just a fading memory of our love from our distant past.