Learn more about other poetry terms
To speak but not to be heard.
I am so very quiet You might not know I am there But I am your listening ear I'm there to hear your problems I hear to show I care Just call my name Tell me your shame And once you're done
Peace. Love. Happiness. Remsembles all my wants. My 'already haves' sofficated, buried six feet under my soul.
My ears captured the bells from afar. Though my eyes rest,I know exactly where we are. I can feel the throbbing pain, before I even stand. Why must I wear these? Who exactly am I trying to be,
If everyone saw who I really am, I can't, I won't, must hide.
A hushed, resigned, tailor Observed, a noiseless, patient spider spin, Past Apollo's race, With needlework of kin, Our pace pulls in the dawn.
The riddles that ring,like the telephones from now and the pastThe dialing of the words that spin in a continuous circle, they always lastAnd when you answerYou want to know why they called