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alluring astute astounding
       creature
        born of
  
moonlightraysandkissesofoshun           wavesonbaretoesatmidnight
pleads

sotto voce

as the hiss of gaslights hush

& darkness
                  

                
          l           o           p           e           s           t           h         e                                                                              
                                                                                                
       e                                                                                               r                                                                                                        
                                                                                                      
      v                                                                                                    o
                                                                                                                    
   n                                                                                                          o

e                                                                                                                  m                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  


like death taking a young child innocently playing





         despite her   des  pair it cry

she could not be heard
for they did not see
                          her


trapped there
  betwixt

         the fall and the rise


              a ray of the full moon for ever trapped in her own eclipse

                                         seeingallyetforeverunseen
                                         brilliancetrapedintheblackholeofeternalnight

born under a dead star

sun extinguished

nothing rising stillhopeagainhopeagainhopeagainhopeonhopealways as
                                    whispers f
                                                      a
                                                         l
                                                           l
            
                                                                            
   muteondea f earsaretruerthanboogiemenunderthebed




moon aglo behind her with no mirror to reflect
             her luminosity

                  into the endless night


                                       she & her

                                       solitaryexistance              vanish
                                                   into


infin i..........
                                               t
so many children are unseen, unheard and they have so much to give.  what happens when we put ourselves in their shoes?
Astra Nov 2018
Another sleepless night,
Another night of lies,
I harbor my feels that I have to hide,

Why might you ask do these feels stay alive,
I answer with a few simple lines,

I’m a girl, one slightly broken, one afraid of the question and attention,
So hushed are my thoughts and silence is my voice,

There’s one good thing I must say something that strengthens me inside,
And keeps me alive,

That fact that this feelings are all MINE
All right reserved, written by fragilehalo
Jesse stillwater Jul 2018
the Silence became
like an old lesson learned

a broken heart intones
a voiceless song
resonating a refrain of Silent echoes
in a voice that never heard a word
yet spoke so clearly ... lingering
in realms of subtle ambiance

soundless remnants
stacked neatly as
building blocks;  
another brick in a wall,
already too tall to see beyond—
growing like a bunker
without a sense of safe harbor

as the Silence became
time and space,
a stillness beset the melancholy air
as if a world without song
foreboding an unpredictable storm
beget vestiges of broken windfall,
reticent leftovers hushed after a gale

s i l e n t l y

an acorn fallen  — became a mighty Oak

a wind-broke twig — became a weeping willow

a neglected child — became mother nature's son

the Silence became
        a blind prophet —
in its voice held forth
smatterings of truth
and undertones of an unrequited
fool’s hope

the Silence became
a strong, abrupt rush of wind
uttering voiceless exhalations of breath;
a hovering dawn mist
    befallen after a summer storm—
surrounding all in all
bedewed in a feigned peace


... the unabated sounds of silence
become


Jesse Stillwater ... July 20th, 2018
Thank you or reading —
now
i
am
dying
she
colours
me dead
oh how
love
handles us
lay with me here
what has become
of
us
her mood has drawn into me
she has captured me
in
dream
beyond
sketches
of
time
she laced me
?













...
..
.
kiss me
lullaby raindrops*
softly fell on the tin roof
their pitter patter
sent one off to deep repose
*hushed of speechless embrace
Sally A Bayan Oct 2016
(I like..)


Small
....productive groups
.....quietly discussing
.............simple,
...effective coups
......are inspiring...


better to hear
......hushed conversations
.........gentle voices,
.....not heated discussions...


i prefer,
....modulated, well-thought of
......responses,
........they discourage
...........frenetic dispositions...


i'd rather
........have coffee
.....in quaint cafes,
...........they offer
................privacy...


i like,
how
s o l i t u d e
.......nurtures,
::::::::::::::
.....then......
sets my soul
::::::::: free!

(10W X 5)




Sally


Copyright September 6, 2016  
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
***...i call my quiet moments, "soul-itude."***
jane taylor May 2016
raindrops faintly laughing as they prance
                                                along the leaves
watercress dancing gently twirling slowly
                                                          in the creek
a deer’s neck softly brushing like a whisper
                                                           against a tree
the sun is rising in the forest with hushed tones
                                                             of red on green
a brusk barista whose soul is wounded wants to cry
                                                               but bravely greets
the first blush of sweet dawn's morning ignites resplendent
                                                     ­                             things unseen
                                 

©2016janetaylor
Christian Bixler Dec 2014
Quiet. It is so very quiet.
The sound, not quite silence.
Rather, like a heavy snow fall,
it adds to the hushed quiet, and
so creates a larger, deeper silence,
vast as an icy sea, small as a single
snowflake, falling from a cloudy
sky.
Quiet. Yes. A silence of three parts, but the third I shall not name here.
WistfulHope Dec 2014
My legs cross yours
Under feather sheets
My skin kisses yours
Hidden, hushed we meet
Words.
Longing.
More words.

— The End —