And in the Rarity of Silence

By Andrew R. Duckworth

I looked in the puddle
On the pavement,
An impression of a soldier’s boot
Filled with water
From a storm that won’t subside.

A face of anger glared back,
Not quite mine,
But similar, all the same lines
Plus a few more,
With eyes sunken with exhaustion.

To my right a man fell,
And to my left?
Another cackled with glaring hate.
And forward-
A path shrouded, uncertain.

Too many voices were speaking
To reflect in
Moments of needed silence,
The pattering
Of rain from an unending storm.

And in the rarity of silence,
The quick
And heavy thuds of a heart
That dreads
Stepping further into the rain.