Love Makes No Sound When It Dies


Love Makes No Sound When It Dies

I thought that love would explode when it died,

but I was wrong.


Dying love makes the quietest sounds:


                                   muscles, tight from stress,

                                   relax into acceptance,

                                   eyes once narrowed in anger

                                   turn away,

                                   the silent sigh of a damaged heart

                                   begins to mend.


The sound of love dying is

the sound of water dripping deep inside the earth

until the ground wears away

leaving a void

that swallows everything

and returns nothing.


Bruno Rescigna


My writing achievements include: short stories published in Elysian Fields Quarterly and the Bucks County Writer, two one-act plays produced at the University of New Mexico, and my poems have appeared in Tidewater’s 2022 issue, and Literary Yard. In addition, I was a finalist in 2021’s Tucson Festival of Books, a national poetry competition. I wish to express my appreciation to Ella Peary and John Brehm for their editing suggestions and encouragement.

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