Mute.

Footsteps line this weathered street,
bare feet impressed in dust.
A presence lingers in my limbs
braced against these crumbling walls.

Apparitions of eloquence haunt me,
ghosts corroding my youth
leaving age untouched.

The roads are masked in concrete,
no place to press my feet.

Modern density, my affliction.
I watch my voice fall into blind eyes.
Every letter, a finger;
Every phrase, a hand,
grasping at the clouds
and screaming at the sky.

But I continue walking
to feel the words you spoke.