Angels On Mute Poem by Kurt Philip Behm

Welcome loneliness my old friend,
to mark the hours emptiness sends

In the middle of the cold and dark,
the vanishing call of a last meadowlark

leaving me stranded,
deep in the well

Counting the minutes where time has conspired,
lusting for something whose clock has expired

This silence a chorus of Angels on mute,
promising nothing, all vows to refute

left and abandoned
—deserted in hell


(Villanova Pennsylvania: November,2020)