plumage of a wounded heart

many days are there in the sun,you think it's generic and not a day to celebrate.thus you wear  a pallid faceas you mute your radio,silence reigns.any word  is an empty promise. 
 many are the nights under the moonless sky. the lamp post  flickers, foretelling death.the windows and doors are barredthorns along your path.a plumage of a wounded heart.
One day, i will be hushed again I pray,while the moon is up.the sun will rise.



©jenh2012