Turn to grey

He sat there in the corridor
But pacing back and forth
His heart’s stillness in residue.
“Will she be alright
After these long hours of waiting
I need to hear what I can’t see
To calm storms there in me”
In remorse
He recounted the lateness of his arrival
Cause distance needed hands to toil
To pend for their survival…
He remembered her sweet stilling voice
After late nights in bustling jams
Desk filled with paper works
That trail him to his room…
“I’ll be alright, don’t worry dear,
I know that though you’re not present here,
Need beckons us to wait.”

And in the night where
Some rest soundly
Sleeping on their
Soft warm beds
Are some with the sound of stillness
Or the smiles on their face,
Pales to the sounds of an empty room,
Holding whatever thread of hope
To believe,
That they will make it through, for the night
To turn to grey.


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