Silence.
Silence, quietness, numbness.
A rage that feels like nothingness.
A scream when all is mute, a muteness.
A looseness of all senses.
An emotion that has no motion.
And cry, cry, my heart--but even the moon shall not listen;
Today there is poetry, but no love and no great lesson.
All was numb when you stepped away from me;
Soon as you drove and faded away like thunder;
Like a beauty that no kind hearts could see.
There was, to the earth, more than rain and water;
There were feelings that were not felt;
There were hands that were too cold.
And no-one, but He, could take hold of our fate;
A darling story that was left told and untold.
All was numb like it is today, unspoken and bare;
This dribbling water feels burly to my hair;
But with drops as tasty as charcoal salt;
A tearful slide that sets alight my heart.
I shall leave your shadow now, in and between,
My greasy hearts that are now to you unseen.
Why do you hate, and why do you hate me?
We hate each other like lilies and daffodils;
With fright and pain and weariness none can see;
With frost and ice and hatred one cannot heal.
And a winter, more silent than ours, is coming;
While we are still shrouded by our feud, madness and betrayal;
With no sing along, no phrase, nor verbs as mortal beings;
We are ****** by our cohorts, in our own worldly upheaval.
And I condemn, condemn your opaque shadow;
Toss them away from me, to the vanishing window.
I felt the world was tumbling and falling yesterday;
Vanished cries and sorrows are real to me today.
And who said you would be buried in my hair;
With your visage stumbled across my face;
For who are you, so that I ought to care;
Who are you, who hath so praised another lass.
You who cannot taste mirth and what love is;
You who bask in tears and curse a daydream's bliss.
You better forget today's and tomorrow's breath;
You should dream there, that now life too is death.
You who killed my sanity, and took my mortal love;
You who burnt me before, and left with a cheeky laugh;
And I, my soul once so steadfast as thine was;
I, in whose words thou once swam and slept fast;
Thou, who rode away by the timid morning;
Thou, who did not even hear my voice crying.
The moving waters, my tears, at their priestlike task;
Drying and dying not until the coming of dusk;
Soaking my lungs and veins and spines all wet;
A scrap of wound I knew I'd never forget.
Lies come in at the mouth and love in at the eye;
Let's now confess the truth before we all shall die;
You, then in her splendour made triple affairs;
And in her triumph kissed her hair;
And within my sight cupped her cheeks;
Saying her skin was white, sweet, and sleek.
She was a majestic sight, like the moon, to thee;
She was pretty and there was only her then, not me.
Summer was coming, summer was coming;
All birds were singing, all trees were growing;
I watered every day my fat cucumbers;
I watched them at night, beneath rolling thunders;
I ate strawberries at dawn and on afternoons;
I counted the days, that flew about too soon.
I played the piano and enjoyed my flawless old music;
It relaxed my mind every day of the week.
But you were with her then, all day and night;
What she said to you indeed, was always right.
You kissed her again and put her to rest;
You wanted her to have the very best;
You destroyed me in life and in poetry;
You tore me like a ghost no-one want'd to see.
And all was left was as sound as silence;
A silence that want'd me, and want'd to listen.
Silence, silence, silence, such silence was my past friend;
A silence that hunts and prowls over me all over again;
Ah, but my gratitude is adequate, to this darling silence;
A silence so friendly that none who hears shall mourn;
A silence so sublime, more than the silence itself--nor its sound;
A silence that makes a gone and swirls me round and round.
Ah, a lunatic poesy, a silence is--that only a poet could see;
A poet too mystical that ordinary beauties neglect.
But poetry, poetry, is there always for me,
With all its charm and sheer beauty and respect;
That all I want by poetry is eyes that can see;
Lungs that can breathe, and ears that can hear;
For poetry sees what nobody can bear to see;
Amends every broken heart, calms those who fear.
Ah, and though t'is silence is the only friend I have;
Clouds are awake and God is not deaf;
And smile, smile again, dear reader, like my darling rain;
Who is tired not of falling, jumping and ******* and making friends.
And all was left was as sound as silence;
A silence that prays, a silence that heals.
A silence that makes us all so real;
A silence that can feel, or make us feel.
Ah, silence, in such a world where the bravest canst not see;
Thou art there still, waitin' for th' chance again, t' be with me.
