Writing - Poems, Quotes, Stories, etc.

The Quiet

It's quiet in this room,
with the candles burning out.
It's too quiet to sleep,
when each whisper
each breath,
every heartbeat,
they all sound like a shout.
The rustle of the sheets,
I hear them echo off the wall.
They sound like a chorus
as I toss,
as I turn,
as I fight off the urge to call.
Outside is the sligtest breeze,
I hear it blow across the lawn.
I imagine it moving,
across the drive,
and across the street,
then like her it's simply gone.
It's quiet in this room,
although it screams with goodbye.
So I lay awake and listen,
I think and I remember,
but I mostly wonder why.