Screaming loud kills the silence,
but screaming quietly kills the soul.
And I have lived between the two
a trembling voice, caught in the throat of twilight.
The world rewards the noise,
the thunder, the visible pain.
But who listens to the whisper
that bleeds behind the eyes,
to the soft collapse of faith
when no one’s looking?
I have swallowed storms to keep others dry, turned my heart into a quiet church where prayers go unanswered but still, I kneel.
Some nights I scream without sound
the walls know my language,
the air folds around my grief
like an old, familiar coat.
Screaming loud kills the silence,
but screaming quietly kills the soul.
So I stand between echo and emptiness,
learning at last
that survival has its own tone
neither loud nor quiet,
but sacred.
Oct 26, 2025
Oct 26, 2025 at 11:37 PM UTC
Screaming loud kills the silence,
but screaming quietly kills the soul.
And I have lived between the two
a trembling voice, caught in the throat of twilight.
The world rewards the noise,
the thunder, the visible pain.
But who listens to the whisper
that bleeds behind the eyes,
to the soft collapse of faith
when no one’s looking?
I have swallowed storms to keep others dry, turned my heart into a quiet church where prayers go unanswered but still, I kneel.
Some nights I scream without sound
the walls know my language,
the air folds around my grief
like an old, familiar coat.
Screaming loud kills the silence,
but screaming quietly kills the soul.
So I stand between echo and emptiness,
learning at last
that survival has its own tone
neither loud nor quiet,
but sacred.
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