Reproach of Silence

The Echo of What Remains Collected Poems of Wanda Lea Brayton

I can only whisper now.

There is silence
between each beat
of my defiant heart.

Butterflies will soon be heading south —
I will not go with them.

I will stay here
with quiet trees beneath my window.
I will draw the curtains
and let cold sunlight in.
Leaves will fall,
yet I will not hear them dance.

My ears are closed
to the sounds of approaching Winter.

My fingers will stiffen -
still, they will stumble
across white paper,
leaving dark footsteps behind.

Shadows are swiftly moving
towards my hearth.

I will not sing

to the dying embers.