Analysis of Angels On Mute

Welcome loneliness my old friend,
to mark the hours emptiness sends

In the middle of the cold and dark,
the vanishing call of a last meadowlark

leaving me stranded,
deep in the well

Counting the minutes where time has conspired,
lusting for something whose clock has expired

This silence a chorus of Angels on mute,
promising nothing, all vows to refute

left and abandoned
—deserted in hell

(Villanova Pennsylvania: November, 2020)