Gong! That very hollow alarm of time itself the chime of
racing sand in a cracking hourglass, the sound of that shiny metal brass.
Constantly and relentlessly calling out for all to follow, wallow indeed it
promises, in this sea of self-aggrandisement consisting of a motley assortment
of trepid souls. Insisting on a costly allotment to timid souls
Bong it booms to every
mortal doomed to announce the sad portal whence through those cowards move- timorous
little mice with timorous tones. An echo carved in stone to scavenge for
emotions since torn from flat-lined chests, no longer beating but once in a
while crank, clank and tank in to a dark misty lair of coldness
Dong goes the sound of madness until tiredness with a felt
pen writes on many a face’s furrows, Burrows that run wild with rage where
indifference and bitterness merge over spilling in that cranky old heart that
has since tanked in that mist of coldness. Boldness has no place or ally here and
boneless is the hand extended to fondness
Gong goes that bell with no warning, a hollow sad tune for
those once born, grown and now (just) gone. Drawn to that portal of superiorly disparate
mortals, for here timorous little mice breed under the whispers of their
timorous trepid tones. Their treachery like a hiss, a song warmth does not miss
sang for those who the salient part of life missed. Caught
in the cold mist that covered the long night when once love was betrayed by a
kiss.
G O N G!!!
“If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels,
but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal.” (
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| Photo credit: http://www.bioacoustic-integrations.com |
By Simbarashe McNorris Hakata
