collapsing to the floor with more weight,
more ease, than ever before.
shattering into a cacophony of little crackles
the ear would have, at one time,
arching with the wave of a hand,
with the breeze of a breath
with the passing of words,
that don't dare to sound aloud.
and erupts into a kaleidoscope upon the books,
upon the forks and the spoons,
upon the beam we so carefully edge ourselves along,
trying to desperately hard not to slip,
but teetering happily in each passing gust.
the world halts its motion.
The colors cease to change
and I remember, with regret,
that everything else will change.
Another piece taken from long, long ago. The only think I changed were some grammar issues and formatting mistakes. Any critique is still welcome!