Long Reach of Silence
Lost in the dark, tangled in silken threads
skeleton fingers of old wounds
leaving empty spaces between lunacy
and distorted visions of obsidian darkness.
Mourning in cobalt skies of midnight hours
forest becomes enemy of old torments,
stones knead blisters on quivering feet -
confusion of illusions in dress of doom.
Muted energy splinters along my trail
unraveling nerves in soupy congealed mist,
rough sands of time lingering in deep recesses.
cracked jars of pain hang breathless from limbs
Fist of night pummels in long reach of silence
eroding numbness fading into nothingness.
a crashing, crushing soliloquy absorbing
intensity between shadow and soul.
Silence is something that you feel,
when a hungry beggar is sitting in front of you,
but you have too little money with you
and you choose to have your meal.
You weren't too right though,just think, were you?
Silence is something that you hear,
when you know you have to put up a smile
just to show that you are not fragile,
but everywhere within you it's just - fear.
You then are not too strong either, just think, are you?
Silence is something that you realize,
when you want to fight for the bigger one,
but have nobody to relish the smaller one,
so you decide to have the pizza pieces alone - you were wise.
You do feel it, think again, don't you?
Silence never spoke,
not a single whisper.
That way she could never choke
and have her words misdeliver.
Thief; of echoes, of sound I make:
throat caked with honey and wine,
I did not know,
I did not expect to meet:
a thief in the night.
Where else would car echoes have gone?
Have all the birds flown away?
And to return, another day,
when the sky is cleared, but grey.
And the sun shines, but not here.
No alarm, no shutter, no click of newly-polished brogues:
I am awake when the attendance was called
And nobody answered.
The sun has set,
The moon has closed in on itself,
The stars are sheltered by obstinate clouds.
If my ears had lashes and pupils, and specks of gold within them;
I would not need to turn a picture upside down,
nor look upon a grandfather's face,
to know that it is midnight:
Light tastes, spoken, broken
I see nothing in molasses brown,
I have shattered the sky,
And the stars rain down,
but they are invisible to the eye.
So, when you ask why I am running too fast,
From the starry night.
I am running because of nothing;
To hear the beating of my heart.
silence is a library filled with books
books as blank as soulless eyes.
silence is a library by some other name
the librarian raises his finger as he looks
if no one can speak, then nobody lies
but pursuit of truth in quiet is a losing game.
silence is fingers, clamping down
on crying babies' mouths and a teenager's frown.
silence is pain of the most acute kind
a deep, mournful stench like a rotten rind.
silence is a library, encouraging you to be still.
silence is only oppression, a line in a fire drill.
silence, you're talking too loud
words scream off the paper,
and that's not allowed.
silence, your head is not right
you'd be better off
if you were unable to write.
hands chopped off at the limb and mouth sewn shut
silence is a library but there are no books,
only knives waiting to cut.
only bindings of flesh and bone,
waiting for another word
to claim as their own.
It must have come slowly,
Seeping in from every crack,
I didn't even notice,
When it trickled down my back
It was waiting for me at the door,
As I opened it one day,
It was too late then I realised,
As Silence was here to stay
The voices in my head were quiet now,
The sounds of the world had ceased
Silence had the last word,
And I knew I was deceased.
The Suitor the Shooter and the silent auction
"Silence suits me just fine. Say no more.
If so inclined. Your silence speaks volumes Simon. Thought it reeks of falsehoods. Anyone can see.
It’s just part of a costume. Clearly biting your tongue feels so wrong. It’s exhausted you. At what cost Mr Mayhues?"
A quick gloss I’d thought. Before the swords cross. And a war of words is launched. I didn’t toss my hat into the ring a lot. I did speak up when the pot called me a kettle black. Confirmed by a tip of my hat. Only a childish fool gets goaded into a lesser gentlemen’s spat. Disarming loaded questions. Without hesitation. No more tit for tat spats. Far from that.You don’t gotta be a mime to figure it out. Stoping short. Miss quoting. You got ghosted dually noted. Loose lips sink ships. So pipe down or we will trade more than quips. Your swimming with sharks now Drip. Sync or swim against the current and get your fins clipped.
"What was that Drip?"
Replied Mr. Simon Mayhues. Opening up and taking the offensive. Repeating oneself being so contentious.
The Shape of Silence
A tired approach to the door:
Burial exits raise old entrances from the ground,
Having passed from point to point, like dots all in row,
Pre-work alarm clocks, parking-garage portals, post-day-partum…
the squeezing hinge unanswered in the depths of the house.
You hold my upturned palm, three limp hands,
Together, a coeternity forsaken by parted ways.
Communion by drips from the skyward bag
Watering downward wires, growing and grafted onto hospital sheets,
Rooting up from entwined feet on the bedding.
You grasped me once; that bed sweetly undergrown for us.
Only the monitor can hearken the memory,
Of blushing caducity; atrial tempos keep the past:
Beeping contractions, but also, flooding diastole, flat—
television’s familiar light, falling unbalanced on the couch.
Icy roots break off their ornament,
My snow-in-summer stem loosens again in convalescence.
Winter’s vale, long, now cloudless meadow,
And there you are, where you were still, awaiting me in the healing thaw—
the last of winter’s chill tearing at the window, a testimony on glass.
Again at the door, I’ve seen this lonely site before.
The steps where I sent you out,
A poisoned heart in new-found health.
A chance to steal back life; the bed you wanted still, now too small for two:
“I lost too much, I need to try and find it again”
If it should turn to winter, and the breeze to gale,
Can I endure it all again?
Where did I send you in that wind? Is your hair a yellow hazel, like I remember?
Tell me, my auburn regret: Shall I awake this time from frozen slumber?
the beeping alarm springs me from bed—I am too late.
Silence is all I have now
Hollowed out hearts don't make a sound
Emptiness is all I've heard
I think of you, your face is blurred
Broken wings on a broken bird
You built a wall for me
I couldn't climb over so I broke every stone to see
A Foreign Force
Still not right.
is pressing down
Twisting my throat,
Covering my lips,
Keeping all air out
My lungs bloat,
My tongue trips,
And I know without a doubt-
It is back.
That invisible thing,
That creeps and crawls and springs
Into everything around it
And forces us to submit.
And once it comes
(And it always comes
It controls us
Though we never discuss
For holding it at bay
Just in case it may stray
And upon us set its gaze
We try to stave it off
With a cough and a scoff
And it works-
But just for a while
A much-too-short while
Before it again descends
Our ability to speak
From us limb to limb, wing to beak
I hope you never fall prey
As I was lead astray-
It is never good to be alone
When control of your voice is not your own.