Claire V. Bogdanos

Out of the stillness of the hour

It seems to me that

I can hear the crying

Of the quiet times

That still must be… now dying.

Where laughter once

Full filled the halls with glee

There is but only a dream

Reminding me.

Would that I might achieve

That day of youth’s bright joy

Would that I might retain

For everyday this buoyancy of living

Somehow I’ve outgrown that joy.

Will I relive it ever?

Listening close

I hear the answer echoing

Throughout the silent halls,

It seems to whisper . . . “Never”.