A foggy night, lonely and still, with an empty park bench and a solo streetlight.

The Silent Hours

A foggy night, lonely and still, with an empty park bench and a solo streetlight.

Published today : The Silent Hours

The weary eyes begin to droop in protest,
But the brain races with the weight of suffering,
Round and round the thoughts jumble,
No control and certainly no buffering.

Please click the link to read the full piece and leave your comments below. I look forward to hearing from you.

https://medium.com/are-you-out-there/the-silent-hours-b7d270229f25

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