the last man on earth (or perhaps a mouse in the attic)

 a poem

is there anybody near? 

among each dry, forgotten tear? 

or does no one softly whisper

that the world is quiet here? 

are there stains upon the floorboards? 

dusty cracks inside the mirror? 

is there any way to know 

it wasn't always quiet here? 

is there a note beneath a magnet

on the fridge? "I love you dear 

and don't have too much fun without me.

when you're gone it's quiet here."

but was it ever read

by someone smiling ear to ear? 

the words between his fingers

and his lips, again--

                                "it's quiet here." 

I'd like to think they were

(although the smile's been gone a year), 

at least they did the scant they could before

the world went quiet here. 

my footsteps sound across the planet 

as it hold its breath in fear. 

they would never be so loud 

if it was not so quiet here. 

do I dare to speak the truth,

to let the silence disappear? 

do I dare to breathe a breath

and hope a lonely soul might hear? 

is there anybody near? 

I long to scream into the fog. 

is there anybody near? I scream, 

it's cold and quiet here.