My silent little dear
snoozes in his cradle
beyond the noises
I can no longer hear.

The quiet drip of
rain and sink,
the swoosh of
inside air circulating,
the vibrations of life
I can hear only with
mental captions on,
are the inaudible sway,
that separates you from me.

Can you hear my smile
with closed eyes,
will you love the
silence or the noise?

Will you delight in
birdsongs or  
in fluttering wings?

Will you laugh at
the music of the spheres
or delight in quiet
thoughts and contemplation?


Child of my April dreams
and September haunts
who breathes in the
whitewash walls of my soul,
what you choose to see or hear,
at first walk, I will protect  
under the signing of my hands.


*This is a poem about my looking back at my baby self, before I contracted Scarlet Fever and became  near deaf, wondering what I would choose if I had the option to hear or be deaf.

Flesh sees flesh
Spirit sees spirit
It takes one to see one
But no one's there to hear it

"You can't hear me!" she whispered,
And I just turned my head.
Sometimes it's better not to hear....
Depends on what's been said.

I know I irritate her;
(I irritate myself).
Hearing aids are waiting
On some hearing doctor's shelf.

While we go on debating,
Because I'm in no hurry,
I sit here contemplating....
Sometimes it's better not to worry.

At the things I heard that peeved me,
Before I tune the wide world out;
Honey, if you really want to catch me,
You're gonna have to shout.

Your thoughts are far from the ground,
Like cumulonimbus clouds thundering by
And pouring rain. 


Life seems to pass by, scattered and wispy 

with the sound of the wind like a whistling train playing
as you stare at the elusive silver lining.

The pit patter of Peter Pan being lost
dwells heavy in your heart,
As you revise the sequence of the cumulus memories.

Life paces
As you ignore the malice and bantering of the crowds
Sticking your head above up into the clouds
half-deaf to reality in the room.

You have a foot in a fairy tale,
And one in the abyss.

I was defended by the soothing tones of his voice
I can no longer hear the surrounding noise

Only the memories of cherubs
singing beautiful symphonies
In his lies
Those infections tones
Would pacify my heart
Like the sweetest of lullabys

And I could no longer hear clearly

I would selectively
Hear his words
To upease my reality

Because at night
As I would lay by his side to sleep

I could no longer hear his heart beat for me

And just like that
the hum of anxiety
slowly rises from its grave
at first I can only hear it if I am listening
in quiet places, all alone
but its volume increases ever so slightly
throughout the day
throughout the week
until it's a roar
deafening me
and drowning out everything else
i want to find the off switch
i want to enjoy
the sound of birds chirping
i want to hear the way you laugh at my jokes
but everything else gets put on mute
while I wrestle with the monster in my head