The Silence

He looked up with guarded eyes

He looked me in the face

Carved his name into my ear

Tore the skin out of my lace

 

I washed the things I could not burn

Scrubbed the vision from my eyes

But no filth could cleanse my rotting soul

The filth was deep inside

 

That heated breath upon my neck

Stitched hate into my skin

That sweaty hand that seized my tongue

My voice would never win

 

So, water filled my mangled lungs

Let the silence live inside

And though I tried to purge my sin

A piece was left behind

 

Grief clouded all the lighter minds

Those left with my remains

But I took a dying breath

With a voice he could not take

 

They shivered under fragile tents

And eyed the dreadful stone

The preacher echoed all the faithful words

As children checked their phones

 

The granite bore a simple line

Misery lies here

They wept and stained each other’s coats

And drove back home in fear

 

What could I say to make them hear?

How did I lose again?

I whisper to the hollow wood

As the silence closes in

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

Comments

Jan Wienen

Thank you

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741