wind-chimes

we are solemn and melancholy
and a slight sigh of tears
breathe a little and
work on moving on with wistful whims
we are still are alive

it felt almost like getting stung
sharp staccatos in the storm
i have felt cold before but
never frozen
wounded metal hits hurt more with a lack of heat
i accent the thunder

i am strung up waiting to dry
when the rain stops a soft
musical cascade on my frame

we may be spotted with age
and rust but still there are sounds

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