It's Still Life

All That Noise

Curious disguise,
this youthful mimicry.

When we lost the gift
of silence
to stormy wind,
it marred the sky
like a viral draft.
We watched
stillness falling
on all manner of stars,
in a stutter,
in a song,
a sparkling charge.

In my youth,
I was hot wired
to fry like desert sand.
In my careless youth.
In my random angst.
I thought I stood
in the shadow
of a backlit sun,
but the vicar said
it was the scent of
sulphur and fire,
and I survived
his thieving guilt.

for Sunday Whirl #342. This week’s words: draft, wired, silence, stormy, gift, guilt, manner, sand, charge, star, mar, fry