Describe a voice you can still hear.
20 responses
I can still hear your voice as I walked
out of the house.
Looking back seeing you standing behind the
screen door
As memories echo through me like a storm
In the stillness of night I still hear your voice
within me as though it travels with me
through the years. A voice of softness
and care
Like you use to be when I was very young.
kindly atlas
5d ago
May 31, 2026 at 6:40 AM UTC
there's beauty in endings, some minds say
but i see cracked remains, dry grains
and somehow even, dispersed vetoes
all i hear is what could be my own name
at their lips, in their voice
a call, and yet so rare
no one bothered, really,
to call me directly
i try to listen, to strain my hearing
all that returns is the quiet
the kind that keeps me breathing
and keeps me floating in this void
i can't materialize
cannot bring the texts to life
i remember so little
i hope i can find somewhere to rest
weathered badger
6d ago
May 30, 2026 at 8:50 AM UTC
Gran, when she told me her love
late wren
7d ago
May 29, 2026 at 11:24 AM UTC
A voice I still hear
is only a breath now
a trembling echo
stitched into my ribs,
calling my name
from a place
I can’t reach
but still feel
windswept birch
7d ago
May 29, 2026 at 8:03 AM UTC
It's not so much your actual voice
It's the tone
the timbre
That brings me back to a happier time and place
small lark
7d ago
May 28, 2026 at 2:48 PM UTC
The song of a tulip,
The wings of a deer,
The laughter you left me,
The hurt echoing here
steady elm
May 27
May 27, 2026 at 11:23 PM UTC
I heard it,
I hear it,
And I will continue hearing it
Until the day my voice joins their ranks.
The laboured breath
of my blood,
my people,
my ancestors.
Screams of joy. Cries of pain. A sigh of relief, a breath stolen by a bullet’s deadly kiss.
And I cry
as I silently mouth the words
to the ancient hymn they gave me.
Their whispers
are the only prayer I know.
soft meadow
May 27
May 27, 2026 at 8:42 PM UTC
I can still hear your voice
Around every corner
Because we’re both still here
But we’re not
And we have to pretend
Like nothing happened
The night after
you broke up with me
I cried
But for a second
The arm
I wrapped around myself was yours
And I could hear you
Pretending to be fine
So I did too
“I’m fine”
“Just tired”
Became my refrain
As if
I hadn’t given a piece of myself
To you
And the piece you gave me
Is still here
And I still hear your voice
Can you still hear mine?
weathered shore
May 27
May 27, 2026 at 6:11 PM UTC
The world braked hard
on a day too ordinary to matter,
but it left a bend in me
I still can’t straighten.
How the absence of a voice
would split mine in half.
Instead I learned
death isn’t a clean break,
it’s a folding.
A slow, sharp turn inward
as something once whole
crumples without warning.
And so the wheels of grief
keep turning;
the screeching amplifying
every September.
drifting porch
May 27
May 27, 2026 at 1:06 PM UTC
You were the only person
To always talk to me.
I still hear your rough coughs
Just before you call out my name.
You're always leading me a new life
With your stupid pep talk.
So I wonder why you left
Without saying goodbye.
windswept garden
May 27
May 27, 2026 at 12:54 PM UTC
My Father,I can still hear him telling me that I am stronger than I think.
open marsh
May 27
May 27, 2026 at 11:58 AM UTC
the room smelled of old mahogany and dust
I’m holding memories like smooth stones
I can hear her voice from the kitchen
rumbling on like a storm
only her eyes would soften
whe she looked at me
I remember the other granny too
cooking carrot stew
her cheeky smile when she asked:
„Do you have a sweetheart?“
"I do", I would reply
an imaginary one but
I can hear his voice too
humble river
May 27
May 27, 2026 at 8:46 AM UTC
i cant hear you
i cant hear the gentle crisp of the whisper in my ear
i cant hear the laughter that echos from your mouth
i cant hear the joy or the sadness
the lump in your throat
i hate that i cant hear
i wish i could have remembered it for years
i wish it never went away
slowly fading from my mind like the slow drip of a closed tap
i cant hear you anymore
and it breaks my heart
i cant hear you anymore
although i wish for one more word
one more whisper
one more laugh
maybe its fine
windswept window
May 27
May 27, 2026 at 8:18 AM UTC
there are many voices I can still hear,
a honeyed tune, like a song chirped by birds while the morning sun rays shone,
or a brittle croaky voice, one so familiar I can’t condone.
or a silvery one, full of grace and pride, always taking a big stride.
or the velvety mutter in my ears as I cried.
all are voices I can’t forget,
one a mother’s, one a father’s,
one a brother’s, one a friend’s.
all are voices I can’t forget.
lonely willow
May 27
May 27, 2026 at 6:36 AM UTC
i read dead poets;
from paperbacks on my night stand,
they lullaby to a quick relief of sweet sleep,
while in my deep cortex they implant phraseological
sniffs and scents of future poetic exploratories that
need revivification, resurrection, and then to be just cherished for their prior excellence seeding small gems
of
smiling quiet of deep contement uncontained
for natty
still kestrel
May 27
May 27, 2026 at 5:20 AM UTC
It is your voice alone
That I can still hear
Shaking my bones
And ringing in my ear.
I cannot move on
I don’t know about you
But now that you’ve gone
My life is turbulent too
And your voice ring, ring rings
Like a telephone
Like a distant lover
Which is what you are.
- I- I mean were.
I never thought
I would have to use the past participle
In reminiscence of us.
And your ringing in my ear curses me,
A disease that rings
As loud as the blade cuts deep.
muted valley
May 27
May 27, 2026 at 3:17 AM UTC
A voice remains,
not as sound
but as heat in the chest,
a small warmth
I never meant to keep.
It says my name
the old way,
soft as dusk,
arriving uncalled,
leaving a shape behind
that only memory fits.
wide window
May 27
May 27, 2026 at 1:53 AM UTC
The voice of regret competes in with the voice of longing
drowning out wrath and grief
drifting hearth
May 27
May 27, 2026 at 1:47 AM UTC
Happy Friday
I used to say,
“Happy Friday.”
You would laugh
at the word Friday
as though you already knew
we would stay tangled
together all morning
beneath warm bedsheets—
no rushing,
no separating,
for the whole weekend.
You are no longer here,
and still
I say,
“Happy Friday,”
just to hear
your chuckle echoing,
your little feet bouncing
through my memory.
hushed kettle
May 26
May 26, 2026 at 11:19 PM UTC
A voice I can never shake off
I can still hear your voice ringing,
like in the breeze wind chimes singing.
Our memories on me, they are still clinging.
And the sadness of your leaving is still stinging.
Oh, Scarlet, my dear friend,
why did our friendship have to end?
little time together we did we spend,
but now into nothing it has blend
salted field
May 26
May 26, 2026 at 9:43 PM UTC
I can still hear your voice as I walked
out of the house.
Looking back seeing you standing behind the
screen door
As memories echo through me like a storm
In the stillness of night I still hear your voice
within me as though it travels with me
through the years. A voice of softness
and care
Like you use to be when I was very young.
kindly atlas
5d ago
May 31, 2026 at 6:40 AM UTC
Gran, when she told me her love
late wren
7d ago
May 29, 2026 at 11:24 AM UTC
It's not so much your actual voice
It's the tone
the timbre
That brings me back to a happier time and place
small lark
7d ago
May 28, 2026 at 2:48 PM UTC
I heard it,
I hear it,
And I will continue hearing it
Until the day my voice joins their ranks.
The laboured breath
of my blood,
my people,
my ancestors.
Screams of joy. Cries of pain. A sigh of relief, a breath stolen by a bullet’s deadly kiss.
And I cry
as I silently mouth the words
to the ancient hymn they gave me.
Their whispers
are the only prayer I know.
soft meadow
May 27
May 27, 2026 at 8:42 PM UTC
The world braked hard
on a day too ordinary to matter,
but it left a bend in me
I still can’t straighten.
How the absence of a voice
would split mine in half.
Instead I learned
death isn’t a clean break,
it’s a folding.
A slow, sharp turn inward
as something once whole
crumples without warning.
And so the wheels of grief
keep turning;
the screeching amplifying
every September.
drifting porch
May 27
May 27, 2026 at 1:06 PM UTC
My Father,I can still hear him telling me that I am stronger than I think.
open marsh
May 27
May 27, 2026 at 11:58 AM UTC
i cant hear you
i cant hear the gentle crisp of the whisper in my ear
i cant hear the laughter that echos from your mouth
i cant hear the joy or the sadness
the lump in your throat
i hate that i cant hear
i wish i could have remembered it for years
i wish it never went away
slowly fading from my mind like the slow drip of a closed tap
i cant hear you anymore
and it breaks my heart
i cant hear you anymore
although i wish for one more word
one more whisper
one more laugh
maybe its fine
windswept window
May 27
May 27, 2026 at 8:18 AM UTC
i read dead poets;
from paperbacks on my night stand,
they lullaby to a quick relief of sweet sleep,
while in my deep cortex they implant phraseological
sniffs and scents of future poetic exploratories that
need revivification, resurrection, and then to be just cherished for their prior excellence seeding small gems
of
smiling quiet of deep contement uncontained
for natty
still kestrel
May 27
May 27, 2026 at 5:20 AM UTC
A voice remains,
not as sound
but as heat in the chest,
a small warmth
I never meant to keep.
It says my name
the old way,
soft as dusk,
arriving uncalled,
leaving a shape behind
that only memory fits.
wide window
May 27
May 27, 2026 at 1:53 AM UTC
Happy Friday
I used to say,
“Happy Friday.”
You would laugh
at the word Friday
as though you already knew
we would stay tangled
together all morning
beneath warm bedsheets—
no rushing,
no separating,
for the whole weekend.
You are no longer here,
and still
I say,
“Happy Friday,”
just to hear
your chuckle echoing,
your little feet bouncing
through my memory.
hushed kettle
May 26
May 26, 2026 at 11:19 PM UTC
there's beauty in endings, some minds say
but i see cracked remains, dry grains
and somehow even, dispersed vetoes
all i hear is what could be my own name
at their lips, in their voice
a call, and yet so rare
no one bothered, really,
to call me directly
i try to listen, to strain my hearing
all that returns is the quiet
the kind that keeps me breathing
and keeps me floating in this void
i can't materialize
cannot bring the texts to life
i remember so little
i hope i can find somewhere to rest
weathered badger
6d ago
May 30, 2026 at 8:50 AM UTC
A voice I still hear
is only a breath now
a trembling echo
stitched into my ribs,
calling my name
from a place
I can’t reach
but still feel
windswept birch
7d ago
May 29, 2026 at 8:03 AM UTC
The song of a tulip,
The wings of a deer,
The laughter you left me,
The hurt echoing here
steady elm
May 27
May 27, 2026 at 11:23 PM UTC
I can still hear your voice
Around every corner
Because we’re both still here
But we’re not
And we have to pretend
Like nothing happened
The night after
you broke up with me
I cried
But for a second
The arm
I wrapped around myself was yours
And I could hear you
Pretending to be fine
So I did too
“I’m fine”
“Just tired”
Became my refrain
As if
I hadn’t given a piece of myself
To you
And the piece you gave me
Is still here
And I still hear your voice
Can you still hear mine?
weathered shore
May 27
May 27, 2026 at 6:11 PM UTC
You were the only person
To always talk to me.
I still hear your rough coughs
Just before you call out my name.
You're always leading me a new life
With your stupid pep talk.
So I wonder why you left
Without saying goodbye.
windswept garden
May 27
May 27, 2026 at 12:54 PM UTC
the room smelled of old mahogany and dust
I’m holding memories like smooth stones
I can hear her voice from the kitchen
rumbling on like a storm
only her eyes would soften
whe she looked at me
I remember the other granny too
cooking carrot stew
her cheeky smile when she asked:
„Do you have a sweetheart?“
"I do", I would reply
an imaginary one but
I can hear his voice too
humble river
May 27
May 27, 2026 at 8:46 AM UTC
there are many voices I can still hear,
a honeyed tune, like a song chirped by birds while the morning sun rays shone,
or a brittle croaky voice, one so familiar I can’t condone.
or a silvery one, full of grace and pride, always taking a big stride.
or the velvety mutter in my ears as I cried.
all are voices I can’t forget,
one a mother’s, one a father’s,
one a brother’s, one a friend’s.
all are voices I can’t forget.
lonely willow
May 27
May 27, 2026 at 6:36 AM UTC
It is your voice alone
That I can still hear
Shaking my bones
And ringing in my ear.
I cannot move on
I don’t know about you
But now that you’ve gone
My life is turbulent too
And your voice ring, ring rings
Like a telephone
Like a distant lover
Which is what you are.
- I- I mean were.
I never thought
I would have to use the past participle
In reminiscence of us.
And your ringing in my ear curses me,
A disease that rings
As loud as the blade cuts deep.
muted valley
May 27
May 27, 2026 at 3:17 AM UTC
The voice of regret competes in with the voice of longing
drowning out wrath and grief
drifting hearth
May 27
May 27, 2026 at 1:47 AM UTC
A voice I can never shake off
I can still hear your voice ringing,
like in the breeze wind chimes singing.
Our memories on me, they are still clinging.
And the sadness of your leaving is still stinging.
Oh, Scarlet, my dear friend,
why did our friendship have to end?
little time together we did we spend,
but now into nothing it has blend
salted field
May 26
May 26, 2026 at 9:43 PM UTC
I can still hear your voice as I walked
out of the house.
Looking back seeing you standing behind the
screen door
As memories echo through me like a storm
In the stillness of night I still hear your voice
within me as though it travels with me
through the years. A voice of softness
and care
Like you use to be when I was very young.
kindly atlas
5d ago
May 31, 2026 at 6:40 AM UTC
A voice I still hear
is only a breath now
a trembling echo
stitched into my ribs,
calling my name
from a place
I can’t reach
but still feel
windswept birch
7d ago
May 29, 2026 at 8:03 AM UTC
I heard it,
I hear it,
And I will continue hearing it
Until the day my voice joins their ranks.
The laboured breath
of my blood,
my people,
my ancestors.
Screams of joy. Cries of pain. A sigh of relief, a breath stolen by a bullet’s deadly kiss.
And I cry
as I silently mouth the words
to the ancient hymn they gave me.
Their whispers
are the only prayer I know.
soft meadow
May 27
May 27, 2026 at 8:42 PM UTC
You were the only person
To always talk to me.
I still hear your rough coughs
Just before you call out my name.
You're always leading me a new life
With your stupid pep talk.
So I wonder why you left
Without saying goodbye.
windswept garden
May 27
May 27, 2026 at 12:54 PM UTC
i cant hear you
i cant hear the gentle crisp of the whisper in my ear
i cant hear the laughter that echos from your mouth
i cant hear the joy or the sadness
the lump in your throat
i hate that i cant hear
i wish i could have remembered it for years
i wish it never went away
slowly fading from my mind like the slow drip of a closed tap
i cant hear you anymore
and it breaks my heart
i cant hear you anymore
although i wish for one more word
one more whisper
one more laugh
maybe its fine
windswept window
May 27
May 27, 2026 at 8:18 AM UTC
It is your voice alone
That I can still hear
Shaking my bones
And ringing in my ear.
I cannot move on
I don’t know about you
But now that you’ve gone
My life is turbulent too
And your voice ring, ring rings
Like a telephone
Like a distant lover
Which is what you are.
- I- I mean were.
I never thought
I would have to use the past participle
In reminiscence of us.
And your ringing in my ear curses me,
A disease that rings
As loud as the blade cuts deep.
muted valley
May 27
May 27, 2026 at 3:17 AM UTC
Happy Friday
I used to say,
“Happy Friday.”
You would laugh
at the word Friday
as though you already knew
we would stay tangled
together all morning
beneath warm bedsheets—
no rushing,
no separating,
for the whole weekend.
You are no longer here,
and still
I say,
“Happy Friday,”
just to hear
your chuckle echoing,
your little feet bouncing
through my memory.
hushed kettle
May 26
May 26, 2026 at 11:19 PM UTC
there's beauty in endings, some minds say
but i see cracked remains, dry grains
and somehow even, dispersed vetoes
all i hear is what could be my own name
at their lips, in their voice
a call, and yet so rare
no one bothered, really,
to call me directly
i try to listen, to strain my hearing
all that returns is the quiet
the kind that keeps me breathing
and keeps me floating in this void
i can't materialize
cannot bring the texts to life
i remember so little
i hope i can find somewhere to rest
weathered badger
6d ago
May 30, 2026 at 8:50 AM UTC
It's not so much your actual voice
It's the tone
the timbre
That brings me back to a happier time and place
small lark
7d ago
May 28, 2026 at 2:48 PM UTC
I can still hear your voice
Around every corner
Because we’re both still here
But we’re not
And we have to pretend
Like nothing happened
The night after
you broke up with me
I cried
But for a second
The arm
I wrapped around myself was yours
And I could hear you
Pretending to be fine
So I did too
“I’m fine”
“Just tired”
Became my refrain
As if
I hadn’t given a piece of myself
To you
And the piece you gave me
Is still here
And I still hear your voice
Can you still hear mine?
weathered shore
May 27
May 27, 2026 at 6:11 PM UTC
My Father,I can still hear him telling me that I am stronger than I think.
open marsh
May 27
May 27, 2026 at 11:58 AM UTC
there are many voices I can still hear,
a honeyed tune, like a song chirped by birds while the morning sun rays shone,
or a brittle croaky voice, one so familiar I can’t condone.
or a silvery one, full of grace and pride, always taking a big stride.
or the velvety mutter in my ears as I cried.
all are voices I can’t forget,
one a mother’s, one a father’s,
one a brother’s, one a friend’s.
all are voices I can’t forget.
lonely willow
May 27
May 27, 2026 at 6:36 AM UTC
A voice remains,
not as sound
but as heat in the chest,
a small warmth
I never meant to keep.
It says my name
the old way,
soft as dusk,
arriving uncalled,
leaving a shape behind
that only memory fits.
wide window
May 27
May 27, 2026 at 1:53 AM UTC
A voice I can never shake off
I can still hear your voice ringing,
like in the breeze wind chimes singing.
Our memories on me, they are still clinging.
And the sadness of your leaving is still stinging.
Oh, Scarlet, my dear friend,
why did our friendship have to end?
little time together we did we spend,
but now into nothing it has blend
salted field
May 26
May 26, 2026 at 9:43 PM UTC
Gran, when she told me her love
late wren
7d ago
May 29, 2026 at 11:24 AM UTC
The song of a tulip,
The wings of a deer,
The laughter you left me,
The hurt echoing here
steady elm
May 27
May 27, 2026 at 11:23 PM UTC
The world braked hard
on a day too ordinary to matter,
but it left a bend in me
I still can’t straighten.
How the absence of a voice
would split mine in half.
Instead I learned
death isn’t a clean break,
it’s a folding.
A slow, sharp turn inward
as something once whole
crumples without warning.
And so the wheels of grief
keep turning;
the screeching amplifying
every September.
drifting porch
May 27
May 27, 2026 at 1:06 PM UTC
the room smelled of old mahogany and dust
I’m holding memories like smooth stones
I can hear her voice from the kitchen
rumbling on like a storm
only her eyes would soften
whe she looked at me
I remember the other granny too
cooking carrot stew
her cheeky smile when she asked:
„Do you have a sweetheart?“
"I do", I would reply
an imaginary one but
I can hear his voice too
humble river
May 27
May 27, 2026 at 8:46 AM UTC
i read dead poets;
from paperbacks on my night stand,
they lullaby to a quick relief of sweet sleep,
while in my deep cortex they implant phraseological
sniffs and scents of future poetic exploratories that
need revivification, resurrection, and then to be just cherished for their prior excellence seeding small gems
of
smiling quiet of deep contement uncontained
for natty
still kestrel
May 27
May 27, 2026 at 5:20 AM UTC
The voice of regret competes in with the voice of longing
drowning out wrath and grief
drifting hearth
May 27
May 27, 2026 at 1:47 AM UTC