There’s an answer in
Silence.
It may be hard to swallow
but it’s the only truth there is—
beside all that other of course.
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The boy who cried gently to the wolf.
You can sense it you know,
yourself shutting down—again
with the change of scenery, again
with the change of heart.
It’s like trying to stop a freight train
running yourself empty, till
all there is is but to explode.
It’s a very empty place to be living.
It’s a very empty place to be born.
It’s a beautiful fall day, though, isn’t it?
Isn’t it beautiful, this
in depth exhibition of yourself—
without the guts, with all the answers
and nothing all that good say.
The slammed door and the silence
The slammed door said I’m hurting.
The silence said I’m scared.
The walls between us listened
when no one seemed to care.
The portraits on the wall,
oh how they seemed stare,
where deep within night
the stars poured ever clear.
The door knob turned eventually
as silence did it’s head,
the sea between us parted and
the portraits went to bed.
While all the world was sleeping
with all their monsters fed,
the boy and girl slept soundly
no sooner had they met.
Her morning meditation
Her silence is an offering
The morning sun’s a gift
Her morning meditation
I watch as my mind drifts
Our backyard is a symphony
The melody and pitch
Free from all temptation
Her presence does enrich
With all stones cast
With all stones cast
There’s a pot still boiling
And a kettle left black
There’s a house still standing
With thinly cracked glass
There’s a kink in the line
With a reel still intact
There’s a spell in the ether
Waiting to be cast
With all stones thrown
There’s a hole full of flesh
There’s a crack in the arrow
There’s an angry protest
Each body a story, color, and time
Each arrow head sharpened, pristine, and divine
Each voice becomes voiceless, estranged, and unkind
With all stones turned
There lies not a soul
The truth is but squalor
Results are annulled
In a garden of daisies
Rest youthful and old
A graveyard of rubble
for silver and gold?
your own silence
Enjoy
your own
silence
while you can
Before
other people’s
noise
gets in the way
time to go outside
The silence
this heat wave
these pale white walls
sunlight and
floorboards whisper
it’s time to go outside.
quiet
It’s quiet,
so quiet I can hear
my heart
beat.
So quiet
I can hear
the maid down the hall
humming softly
alone.
We do not want, but accept these things.
Unintentionally rude.
Little disheartened sighs.
Incapable of speech.
And worrisome.
Fearful of what, exactly, is unknown.
Trying not to incite confusion.
Attempts not to quarrel only create greater tension.
Anxiety.
Disdain.
We do not want, but accept these things.
In silence,
there is no argument but a stalemate.
Like a fruitless game of chess.
On egg shells,
we walk,
stiff kneed,
toes clenched,
trying not to crumble.
Trying desperately to surrender.
Our sympathy and concern,
marred by our inability to grasp the others discontent.
We slowly close our eyes.
And wake in the morning,
anew.
A working hypothesis.
Burning my hand while removing our bagels from the broiler, I hear a voice.
“BECAUSE THERE’S NO GOD DAMN ROOM!”
And I recognize that voice.
That voice is not my own.
It’s deep and fearful.
Hoarse and irrational.
It is the voice of an angry man.
It is the voice of my father.
Then there is silence.
A long insecure silence.
A fearful silence.
And I recognize that silence.
I have been on the receiving end, and that is a terrible place to be.
Catching myself in the act I quickly apologize.
“I’m sorry.”
Only now it is my voice.
It is mild and tame.
Concerned and rational.
It is the voice of a scared child.
It is the voice of a worried man.
And in my mind I’m thinking, please believe me.
Please for the love of all that is holy.
Believe me. Believe me. Believe me.
Because what I meant to say – while burning my hand and channeling the blame to whomever(the loved) was in firing range – was, “because I’m the idiot who didn’t think twice before touching a hot pan.”
It’s my fault.
Not yours.
And now I’ve got the scar to prove it.
Through outwardly and publicly expressing concern and or contempt for one’s actions, said party, will reject the path of his predecessor in order to lead a gentle existence.
It’s a working hypothesis.
