Poems about silence

Over shadowed aspect
Of self, so undefined
Your chatter box sustenance
Would blind you for a life time.
Voice after memory ricocheting
Endlessly in your mind.
I don't want that for me.
I dont want to be living
Through my past.
I'm sick of reruns
And repition.
Im Tired of playing
The same old roles
Paying the same old tolls

This can't be all there is to life.

It was an object of futility to remain unloved,
The only emotion worthy of our otherwise meaningless existence,
Forced with a first kiss, intimacy then adoration,
Beauty lying in the speculation,
Taunting us with it's ugly judgement,
The promise of a world that was written as unmoving,
A moment established on deciept
It was unexisting and were fools.

The allure of which we were all captivated by,
Was not the moment we shared, the touch, the ecstasy,
But the weightless instant after,
The silence we were left with when everything fell,
When the naivety had thawed under the heat of passion,
And we were left only with ourselves,
Because after all, we would die,
And we would die and decay alone,
With only our desolate last moment to comprehend, to reason existence.

Matthew heard her blow.
That stroke belonged to her yet.
Passed her by.
Nothing changed until.
Red chill removed a sleeve.

In a dream she said
In blurred electricity:

'well
I have my weapons, too
My naked body
Writhing and resplendent
And complete

Someday I will snare you
And tear you right apart
You are nothing
And everything to me

You will be mine'

It is still here, no,
More than that, it is
Silent. the breath of my computer,
The footsteps of my father,
My own invisible mist of nitrogen
And carbon dioxide.
But it is silent
Despite the noise
Despite the ruidos
Despite everything.
I would like to live here
Someday, if it would let me.

I would like to live.

Silence
Quiet and dark
Reaching, breaking, ending
It's always terrifying me
Stillness

(To Eleonora Duse)

We are anhungered after solitude,
Deep stillness pure of any speech or sound,
Soft quiet hovering over pools profound,
The silences that on the desert brood,
Above a windless hush of empty seas,
The broad unfurling banners of the dawn,
A faery forest where there sleeps a Faun;
Our souls are fain of solitudes like these.
O woman who divined our weariness,
And set the crown of silence on your art,
From what undreamed-of depth within your heart
Have you sent forth the hush that makes us free
To hear an instant, high above earth's stress,
The silent music of infinity?

ЂњWhat's wrong? ” you ask
But how do I explain an illness when you cant see the symptoms?
How do I say:
I have a headache caused by nothing that doesn't fade
No matter how much water I gulp down,
A stomach that bubbles and boils with acidity
For no reason I can decipher other than fun;
My mind is in a constant war with my lungs
As if raising my hand to speak were the same as being
Chained to the ocean floor.
My eyes dart from space to space
As if some ghastly demon lies behind the shadows,
But everytime I check there is
Never
Anything
There.

So I close them.
I tell myself to breathe.
I try to regain my composure just long enough for no one to notice
And plaster on the smile that everyone else would like to see.
I lie to myself that if I pretend to be okay,
I will be.

ВЂњWhat's wrong? ”
You know, I've never been the crying type.
I was the kind of girl that would take an elbow to the nose and brush it off as a small bump.
I could scrape my knees on the pavement until they were raw and jump back up laughing
I could go the hospital and tell the doctor my pain was only a 7
When in fact my appendix was on the brim of bursting
And my only sensation was a burning nausea.

I told others to suck it up; to be strong;
To prove themselves more resilient than what people expected.

How then, did my laundry routine begin including the scrubbing of
Mascara stained pillowcases?
When did I suddenly switch from shaking off my pain to struggling not to
Bang my head
Against my bedroom wall until I bleed and
Give myself the coma I so wish I could be in.

ВЂњWhat's wrong? ”
You may only see a rhythmic tapping of my fingers but in reality
That tap tap tap tap tap
Is my SOS code.
My shaking leg resembling a nervous tic actually serves the purpose
Of releasing just enough energy so I dont go off the edge.
The sudden jerks of my head I laugh off are the physical proof
Of me trying to take off the thoughts that appear again and again
The voice that says:
ВЂњYou are worthless. ”
ВЂњWho could ever love you? ”
ВЂњDon't trust him”
ВЂњDon't trust her”
Don't trust yourself.

ВЂњWhat's wrong? ”
Its funny.
You may say it's all in my head and ironically you'd be right,
But it's not just in my head, it is my head.
This time the burning nausea is not something I can shake off.
I have an invisible snake suffocating my mind and body
Infecting me with a venom that
Finally makes me want to admit:
This is it!
This is the 10.

But how do I explain an illness when you can't see the symptoms?

ВЂњWhat's wrong? ” you ask.
Nothing.