Wave Goodbye

I am letting go

In this South Westerly Land.

With its highs and lows

Its twists and turns.

Highly it is a very good

Time and place,

Lowly it is these two

Too, in the Too much?

Never.

I am letting go of the voices,

The sweepers of dreamscapes.

The sounds of the dark belly

Dumb Dell, Deli Belly

Berry Buried hours

Of the very early morn.

These earliest of hours,

First lighting,

Like daily helters

On the skelter scurry

At the dawning.

The early bird,

Bird song hours at the beginning

Of another live long day.

I am seeking a riddance

Of the voices and sounds,

The quiet worded sentences.

The knowledgeable and the cute,

The noble and the cruel causes.

The lists of men

The paraded women,

The doers and keepers,

The movers and shakers.

Songsters all

In an opera of the nocturnal.

I am quieter now

By my own doing.

I have switched

Form from nightly rover,

Surfer of the airwaves,

To a better, gradual time.

I have graduated myself.

I have found my incline.

Now at last before I sleep

I switch off until morning,

All the voices

Accumulated over the years,

In search of my ideal dreamscape.

I have collected

Accumulations to total,

A lifetime of the silences

Sought by me.

Recently I have become inclined

Towards coastal waters.

In Devon, if I have the time

I will taste anew my own voice,

And leave silence

To the night,

To rest in peace

As I sleep without my radio.

C2019 Chris Thompson

All rights reserved.

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