His voice synchronised with the silent strumming of my soul

It ran the fickle and frivolous mind of a man on parole


My eyes clamed shut and in an instant made him ask whether it was something he said

Irony smirked and I urged him not to interrogate, go on please keep talking instead.

And thus he spoke, with a gleam in his bespectacled eyes, of what kept him up as a ghoul

The paradoxes which tickled him, the books that left an imprint in his melancholy soul


I tried to pay attention, believe me; I did, but that throated husky voice became my kryptonite

His unheard words must’ve been of significance but alas, my lapse of judgement deviated from right.

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