I Hear the Phone Rings

 
Walking around Bulgaria’s neighborhood, I saw flyers posted on the door of some houses. At first, I thought they were from candidates running for office. The flyers were actually obituaries of residents who had passed away. Sometimes, the sadness that you’d feel around these places could be overwhelming. that’s the theme that I want to convey in this poem.
 
i hear the phone rings
breaking like a thief
into this empty house
frozen in time by grief

a call from the past
begging to be heard
it doesn’t matter now
the intended is dead

the intruder gives up
bringing the silence back
to a place where love
stood once mighty proud

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