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whisper of a tear

i cry for what you never heard
the words i dream i might have said
the love you and i do share
that's only in my head
i loved you, but you never knew
you saw me, but you didn't see
my cries are heard by none but me

do you hold her in your heart?
she doesn't know what she has
why is she so blessed,when i am damned?
my pain goes on, though you are gone
i miss your face, your eyes so blind
i cry for what i didn't lose
i lost a love i never had


The power of it vibrates
out into the chilly night.
Voices rise, rejoicing, with solemn interludes.
A single child is by the organ, his little hands outstretched.
The candles glow.
The seats are filled tonight, guilty conscience, silly pride.
But the voices rise to reach the rafters
And it is beautiful
And I cry
And the child lies by the organ, by the altar,
Smiling down on us.


The lady at the token booth must be on another time frequency, because it seems that everything she does is in slow motion. The line has reached the blue column, which happens about once a week. Of course, it would happen today, when I have a Global test in thirty minutes, and the train ride takes twenty-five. The sharp smell of urine makes my empty stomach turn. The man in front of me is digging in his pocket for moneyu, and the line gets shorter by one. My wallent is old and breaking in the middle, where it feels rough and the thread shows. When I hold it up finally, my pass slips out and floats to the floor.

Picking up my pass, I hurry through the turnstile, and start climbing stairs to the platform. The people walking towards me have come off the train, and though I can't see it, I know it is there with its doors wide open. Running now, my backpack slips a notch on my shoulder, and the edge jabs into my side. The tome sounds and doors begin to close. I am close enough to touch the silver treain as it pulls away, and the sour wind caused by its departure passes over me. Maybe I should throw this stupid wallet away, or start waking up earlier.

The wallet makes a soft thud as it lands in the trash can.


I awoke to the chorus of birds outside my win-
dow. Their tiny shadows fell on the sill, and
through my half-closed eyes I saw one swoop
in. The wind
brought by its powerful little wings stirred the
curtains almost imperceptibly.

It seemed to be speaking to me, as it moved
back and forth nervously on the
window sill. The melody of the others was
softer now, and I wondered if they
knew where their friend was.

I leaned over and stretched out my hand to the
bird. Every inch I moved was
certain to startle the bird and frighten it away.
Closer I leaned, despite myself,
and still the bird did not flee.

It stayed perfectly still, allowing me to take it in
my hand. I stared in wonder
at the bird, and it stared back at me. I could
feel its heart beating so fast in its
little chest, and its steady rhythm calmed me.

When the bird flew away to join its friends, I
remained still for minutes.
Finally the moment was gone, and I had to go
on as if this was a normal day.
Once I lef the house the memory began to
fade, and I clung on to the steady

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