Random Pips

By: Winluck Wong

A hush brushes us with a blue glim
To muffle the row of harsh white din
A whisper spreads that the house is in,
To be pseudo-silent when lights dim.

We are a storm of enormous breaths
And repeats of a redundant stretch.
We have a mind for each line to etch
And dread corpsings more than vexing deaths.

You stand amidst this with endless calm,
A knowing smile that rides upon
Your confidence the show will go on,
Which serves as our burning nerves’ balm.

I tear my stare away at my cue -
The band is drumming its first tattoo.
But though there’s a whole world to woo,
I’d rather remain back here with you.

~ by Winluck on May 5, 2009.

Posted in Poetry
Tags: Poetry