An Everyday Possible Prophecy

The halls are silent with the ceasing echo of the clamoring feet only the teachers voice merge from their place of hiding to press the ears of the lonely soul. Out cast from these dwellings that will soon crumble yet there he sits book in hand so carefully examining the formation of each letter his concentration unbreakable. The wind will even hold its breath while drifting by soon to him even this inconstant drabble will be lost drowned away but a secret sound. The songs of some abandon music box spin around even if no ones left to listen to its tragic tale. A haunting lullaby hidden beneath the dust waiting down on her ageing coils the mummer softens when she slows even while she’s dying. She sends out a comfort bless till even in the silence her sound will not be heard and yet this lonely soul can not tear himself away trapped with in his release of foreign worlds a tear will fall to blur the words but nothing else as the beauty of the music box is stifled out with a dawning hour