And somewhere in the eaves it shook;
A small
And hardly sounding creak
Or whisper, or a shout that took
A time of deafness to perceive.
And somewhere in the soul it snuck
Around
The years of insular
Defeat. Despite your best intent,
Your wakeup call can still, indeed,
Be missed. While life, and all the rest
Does drown
The ability to hear
What you, still open, wanted
For yourself,
But missed while lost in fear.
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