If I could shout for a day
count the hours with my shrieks
I’d be hoarse before the calm
descends upon my jagged mind

twisted past the balance point
the brain descends upon itself
with small quiet as a bomb
waiting for explosion’s balm

this awakes the greater harm
if the silence must be held
this ability to cease the cries
comes too sadly with a price

once the pain begins to sound
there is no ceasing afterward
forever droning plaintive cry
echoes without comfort’s kind

now the need is kept inside
while emotion kills the soul
bleeding from the wounds within
without recourse to sounding out

this secret is my mute fortune
hoping none must bear the noise
I’ll keep from shouting for a day
instead I’ll die to for quietude.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190127.