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Big Brother's Gone
October 29, 2013
The clock ticks,
The music box turns.
He’s not home,
Big brother’s never home.
The candle flickers,
The darkness is still.
For all I know,
He’s dead, lost, or forgotten.
I miss his warmth,
And soft touch.
I miss his lullabies,
And gentle voice.
The music box taunts me.
Its song dances and sings a dies irae.
But I wait at the door,
Praying he comes home unharmed.
The music box slows,
And I lower my eyes.
The music box is morbid.
It’s just like life.
The tune starts quickly,
And before we know it, it slows.
And not long after it begins,
It stops.
© Ashley D., Philadelphia, PA
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