From the lips of a still night
comes forth a silent song
bearing the tale of the souls
borne away from under it's cover
to a far away Dawn.

The joyful blooming of a flower
shouts out to the soaring bird
in a silent song that there is
splendour in being still and radiant
no less than there is in flight.

The lofty trees touching the sky
sing a solemn silent song
of their patience,of their resolve.
Their greatest victory in shooting
up through the resisting earth.

It is a silent song
that passes between lovers' eyes
singing the desire of one
to be a part of the other..
to become lost in the other.

A silent song rises from the Earth
carrying the prayers of souls;
rises like an incense
through the starry ether
to the Creator;Breather of life.

Without wings it flies
Without words it speaks.
Mystically beautiful it is
as it envelops the world,
this Silent Song.

To keep these thoughts to myself,
is the only option I have.
They collide painfully with others,
hidden by a silent front.

To let them free,
would be to ruin everything.
I am a prisoner in my own head:
seeing every scenario
played and replayed –
none of them mostly happy.

So I give a hint there,
hope you pick one up here –
A silent protest to a silent war.
And wonder what you think then.
But I already know.

You're as much a prisoner as I.
Like choosing a path in a dream
that turns to vapors and is gone
struck from the memory upon waking

And now,
it is all I have.
A faint memory of what could be,
and that of which, never will.

So today I wrote a rant in math class.  I had a lot on my mind and I needed to write about it.
I showed one of my friends and he almost cried.  He said it was realatable.
So here it is I guess.  Tell me what you think.

Yah know when you need to write something but you don't have any paper?
Or when you want to text but your phone is dead and you don't have a charger?
Or when you want to talk but can't speak?
You'd just buy more paper and a charger right?
What if theoretically, you have no money and you can't get any
because there are no people around to give you any?
Then you can't buy anything period.
Then there's no point in talking and communicating.
After that,
after you realize you can no longer communicate,
You block yourself in.
You walk the world alone because you know you are alone.
You feel like nobody cares because there's nobody around to cafe.
Then you stop caring.
You stop caring if there's a tomorrow
because there won't be anyone to spend it with,
That if the world were to end today you wouldn't care.
You'd become silent,
you'd be silent,
you'd live silence.
Even if there were people and you couldn't communicate
You'd still be alone,
because they'd lose interest in you.
You'd still be alone and feel like no one cares.
In a wild free roaming world you'd be the caged one.
You'd also stop caring about tomorrow
Because you can't talk to anyone and they don't talk to you.
What if you could talk but still feel like that?
Feel no one cares because you're you?
Feeling powerless in a world where you don't think you matter?
You'd always be alone,
even if you have the power to speak,
Youd know that'd you be alone because no one would like your opinion.
You'd always be silent because
you're scared to be you in a world that doesn't want you to be you.
You'd grow tired of being an empty shell.
You would get angry that no one feels you matter,
But deep down even you don't feel like you matter!
You still wouldn't care,
like you're reaching out to something non existing.
If you can't express you're opinions then why would you matter?
If you're scared to be you because of others then why should you matter?
Why should someone care about you when you don't care about anything?
You go silent because you worry too much about what others want,
Not what you want.
You fall silent in the world you locked yourself in.
Why suffer in silence when you can rise in noise?
What's the point of being you when you just want to be someone else?
There is no point then if you truly 100 percent feel like that,
If you don't Atleast try to be you and have an opinion then there is no hope.
You'd just be a silent unsung song in the distance of no ones mind.

Speak grace into the canvas of my silent heart
Words of love and musical laughter part from your gold velvet lips
Strength enough to carry away pain and suffering from my weary eyes
Speak grace into the canvas of my silent heart

Dance like fire wild in the ink drop watercolor night
Passion stained cheeks glow from beneath lovers eyes
Sparks soar higher than the thunder head eagles play
Dance like fire wild in the ink drop watercolor night

Breath soft as the world settles slow and rise with the lazy star heat
Forget the troubles of days behind and look for warmth in my furnace chest
Delicate sighs of whispered vows tremble about the air
Breath soft as the world settles slow and rise with the lazy star heat

Speak grace into the canvas of my silent heart
Words of love and musical laughter part from your gold velvet lips
Strength enough to carry away pain and suffering from my weary eyes
Speak grace into the canvas of my silent heart

In the shadowy, silent street I walk
The darkness of the night engulfs my spirit
Like the soddy soils covering the rock’s
Brilliant colour of ruby, red passion.
The daring dreams for the future
Has caused my soulful eyes to ashen-
Blinded by the present reality-
The dreams begin to fade.

In the shadowy, silent street I walk
The mind has lost its mentality
And strength to wade
Through the current bleakness of life.
The midnight shadows of the street
Have caused me to lose sight.
Can the faith of the heart bring light?

In the shadowy, silent street I walk
The cicadas buzz bitterly in the quiet street,
Stirring memories of mundane voices
That has caused me to cheat
Myself from making personal choices.
I cry silently in despair
For fear has swept my sense of direction.

In the shadowy, silent street I walk
A distant street lamp lit up the solemn street
Providing me with a sense of protection
The heart burns with a passionate heat
Providing strength for my body to move with affection
Towards the mystery of the shadowy, silent street.

(c)2018 Joanne Chang

(oh, if you don't like lengthy-reads, do not read any further.. thank you)





how I long to hear you
I am silent now
just like you


1.
from the curtain rail, hang paper-butterflies in gentlest-breeze
you made for us in vacation-time
we loved living and being with you
      so quiet and so serene
never loud, nor ever shouting
you gave us the love we often had to steal at home


2.
dear lady, when our parents couldn't cope
they dumped us at your door
you took us in for days on end
and how we flourished in your care

momma in her perfumed get-up.. always out and about
I couldn't stand her smell
she hardly took the time of day.. to get to know her own
they quarreled all the time
one time, we saw her pull in ugly-anger, a knife on him
      and he punched her hard in the face
      we-took-it-in.. the three of us
      they saw us standing there, looking on
I tried to shield the younger ones' eyes
but the lesson sank in.. thickly


3.
so, off to you.. we got bundled, like hastily-wrapped parcels
and you took us in
and we gleaned the worth of stability

you spoke to us in quiet-tone:
right, now we will read.. alright, my dears?
    we responded with three silent nods
    eyes up at you.. like open-flowers
    our smiles inside slowly blossomed
as a powerful-routine came to life

sit us down near koi-pond in the yard
     after milk and choc-chip cookies
     green dappled shade-cloth overhead and potted plants
she opened up a book - Gift from the Sea.. and she read
     we listened with rapt-souls, open and accepting
     drinking in the delight of her well-intoned voice
she tempered that sickly-void with deep-respect and lasting-admiration

how we filled the hours with your special-technique of patience
        we discover life.. along with title and the author
        one buck to read the first sentence of a new book
        two for first paragraph
        five for first page
we earned a keep to last a jolly ol' lifetime
looked forward to the end of every weekend
when we'd spend the week with you
off to school, you saw our tiny-feet and welcomed in the afternoon
      warm greetings with firm hand, discipline fell in place
      but when chores are done and homework, too
that's the time we'd settle quietly into the routine you set so well

cushions at the koi-pond and each one gets a turn
granny-dear, granny-doer.. you took the time
you read to us and we read to you
and then, we read to one another.. while you did your tasks
        we learnt of the classics and many obscure artists, too
        writers' names became familiar; we discussed at length
        and from your fine library, came three very well-fed beings
who each had a jar filled with love-pennies and mind-notes

tranquil-nap in dimmed-room in the afternoon
eyes sunlight piercing through in stippling-slants on polished wooden-floor
we fell into peace

thinking expanded beyond the lore of words
you'd engage the width of our seeker-imagination with so much
         drawing fine-lines into the unknown
         and paper-mâché and Rorschach-ink
         and let us see how earthworms could be useful
         and transplanting our seedlings from disposable egg-cups
by my teens, my special botany-project grew: orange saplings
how the time, it flew.. weeks and months.. years..


4.
then, one day, our momma said.. no more time at granny
          we questioned and we queried, but to poor avail
          evasive-looks met our searching eyes
and vague answers, even poppa with the *****-glaze didn't talk
we failed to swallow their awkward-energy

the three of us could take no more: affection interfered
      and I took two buses and snuck out to her place
I crept in silent, found her resting
but her eyes were covered up
      her face had blue blotches and cheeks were puffy
sharp-inhale!
      I shrank perforce and cried inside.. and softly touched her hand
she woke up, startled and turned away
     but she knew it was me; she'd learnt my smell so long ago
bowing my head, I gently wiped her brow with unscented-towelette
and I saw her shoulders shaking
she quietly accepted my comfort


5.
the routine continued, thankfully
after we got wind of what really happened
how you were mugged in the subway on your way to work
you've lost the use of one eye and you now slump on one leg
this fall in health did nothing to dampen your ardour
       we read for you when you could no longer see at all
       and when your pensioner-status made you penniless
       you rewarded us with hugs pressed into the psyche
       our night-time pitter-patter slipping to you from nightmares
       and you stitched our broken-pieces and sealed our cracked-assurance
never finer devotion bred from hands so kind


6.
you let us read and it sparked the mind
the penny kept on rolling with great success
long after you left
    my brother now lectures in languages
    and guest-speaks at many places of higher-learning
    and my sister became a lawyer
I became a drop-out early on, but I never sold my dream
I struggled with their help.. yes, I know.. I was always slower
and melted-crayons still do yield.. colour in the twilight of cool-eve

yes, and I bought a farm not long ago
and I tend my own keep
granny, you'd be proud of us
three silent nods to an angel in disguise


now, I stand here.. quiet in my beautiful-orchard of oranges
              stare at the leopard-changing shadows on the tiles
and long to read for you
so, I open up a dream lying next to my koi-pond, an auburn-tail flicks handsomely
and it all spills forth in reams..



can you hear me now?
in silent-vow, I unveil the finest of my heart-words
to you..




S T, 2 January 2013

Like a life that is searching for that echo of lost love,
Your single soul is searching for truth in a hell of lies.
Too long have you waited, simply keeping silent,
Waiting to leave the dark that sings only shadowed songs.
Unlike dreamers that only dream of the dark called death,
Your single heart is dreaming of finding a breath of beauty.

A photograph of a memory, your only memory of beauty,
Reminds you always of the joy and pain of love.
Reminds you always how a breaking heart feels like death.
Reminds you always of how many times you believed his lies.
That photograph of your memory, reminiscent of all those country songs,
Is the reason your heart is still and your voice, silent.

But something inside is yelling, telling you not to stay silent.
It knows your pleas to find a way to believe in beauty.
Listen, it says, life sings the most discordant yet harmonic songs.
Listen to the symphonies in nature and fall in love.
Fall in love with waterfalls and the winds, not the one who lies.
Listen for the laughs of lives that have defied death.

For too many days you have seen only the black of death,
For too many months your world has been silent,
For too many years all you had been told were lies.
But it only takes a blink of the eye to see the light of beauty.
It only takes a moment to fall into the rhapsody of love
You only have to take a chance to be the melody of love's radiant songs.

Then again.. who are you but the sharp note that belongs only in forgotten songs?
Who are you but the smallest breath just waiting for death?
Who are you but the thorn on a rose given in love?
Who are you but the echo of a whisper, almost silent?
Who are you but the nightmare that breaks a dream's beauty?
And who are you to believe you are these lies?

You are a single soul searching to find truth in this hell of lies,
A soul fighting to leave darkness that sings shadowed songs.
You are a single heart dreaming of that light called beauty,
A heart refusing to dream of that dark called death.
You are a beautiful voice that won't be kept silent,
A voice singing with a soul that knows there is love.

You know there is more love than lies.
You can hear those once silent songs.
You know you can fight against the death of Beauty.

Silently weeping tears run cold.
By myself in this empty house.
No one to hear my whimpers and cry's.
By myself I have no one to relay on.
Trying to call but no one answered.
I'm left here with nothing but the echos of my tears as they hit the ground.
Silently weeping.
Were tears run cold.
In this empty house.
Is were I lose all hope.
Slipping away with the razor in my hand.
Were the floors are stained red.
Silently weeping hoping someone saves me before I end

The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.