Signals
You said call me —
a door left ajar,
a hand extended into the silence,
trusting the echo to return.
I said I’ll call you —
a promise folded in my pocket,
a coin that may never be spent,
control disguised as care.
Between us hangs the dial tone,
a wire strung tight with longing,
where one waits in quiet hope,
and the other drifts in delay.
And yet —
in the pause between words,
in the static between breaths,
we both know the truth:
connection is a fragile thing,
and sometimes love is only
a number never dialled.
.
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Author:
crypticbard (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: November 14th, 2025 05:42
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 4
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Comments2
There is such a sad tone to this poem an offer made a call not connected. The message is clear but there is static on the line. Well expressed that feeling between friends and acquaintances. Wistful, longing a connection not to be made
great write, I like the sense of may or may not call
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