familiar is the silence
those voices inside his head
at times went missing for days
sometimes for weeks or longer
each time promising to never return
but the voices never really went far
and he would run into them
at the supermarket
or movies
at the bowling alley and speedway
fast food restaurants
and convenience stores
weeks went by and then years
the songs of his pluperfect past
fading in the background
like little birds left behind
whispering apologetically
pleading to be taken back in
safely inside his warm bed
he pulls a blanket up to his chin
and waits in silence for the
voices to return
october two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
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