blog post, Blog Posts, Poem, Prose

Falling

The wind combs through the leaves,
There is a chorus of greys and greens.
Seeing small tethered things.
Seeing birds beat their wings.
Hearing blowers and mowers.
Hearing silence and violence.
Shots ring out a few blocks away,
No matter child go out and play.
Sirens blare, rade the air.
I hear an argument next door,
I hear two voices snarl and roar.
A radio flys away,
Escaping to the light of day.
The sun does not last too long,
By 4 pm it’s set and gone.

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