Blue shoes tapping on brown boards
Screws withstanding the stories of
Hundred who wish to seek the next.
The ocean below is barely audible,
Shouting seas replaced with
Tires rotating on rubbery cycles.
Shutters close and teeth exposed
As one thousand eyes are magnified
Through lenses capable of
Stealing a smile from Father Time.
Vibrations calling out the names
Of every sound that has passed
Some full of childlike joy, while
Others whisper of quiet contempt
But they all flow, in harmony,
As footsteps continue to pass
By my chilly ears.
The Nuclear Cottage 