In winter spring
And summer snow
In waters sweet
And depths below
A time shall come
For all to pass
A time for all
To rest at last
In all my years
Without a home
And all my fears
Have left and grown
I know but now
One simple truth
To trust myself
And always push.
"Curiosity killed the cat"
or so they say
I think the cat knew the risk
whatever happens next is its fault
"But satisfaction revived him"
must we really depend on a saviour?
A golden hand to pull us out of our ****?
Live a little
Grow some *****
Take charge of your life.
The intense monochrome of your lovers hand touching his
Burning, boiling, burtsing, ready to explode
Various reds and deepest violets invade your senses
Causing whatever strength you have left to erode
The heightened passion of his touch on her skin
The colour of her voice as she speaks to him
The distance between your hearts as you leave
All mesh together till your vision fades to green
Small simpering sounds amongst the night
Sweetly whispering whimsical woes
Wondering whether you'll stay in sight
Soft stars singing silently in sunken sky
Sharp glistening gems and subdued cries
Frosted flares of fiery anger
Enraptured by an encased heart so icily clad
And so you feed a hurt based hunger
Hopelessy pining for what love was once had
To come calling, cawing like crows
The knawing depth of knives buried deep
Kindling obnoxious desires of letting go
Forlorn thoughts of forgotten promises
Drowing you from the inside
We cannot write silence.
The way it aches
and begs that,
if only for a moment,
our consciousness is only a whisper.
the air that passes through falling chests
A melody of emotion.
Sleeping in the quiet of a heartbeat skipped
a word lost to the wind.
The wickedness of reticence
Encapsulated in air and time.
The moment stretched too long.
Hesitation perpetuated in the grip of fingernails
pressed into palms.
We cannot write silence,
but we can try.
to find a way to immortalize emotion
to create space
in the ceaseless drone of words that speak and spin.
I cannot write silence. But I can write
tears and years
and the burn of long-stretched lies.
I can write goodbyes and hellos
And dozen ways to say
I love to hate you
I hate to love you
I cannot tell the difference.
The space I have upheld for myself.
I love to hate you
I hate to love you too.
I cannot write silence.
But I know it.
and I have held it in my hand.
Inspired by the Vanity Fair article of André Aciman's reaction to his book *Call Me By Your Name* being made into a movie. Specifically the quote, "I couldn't write silence."