It was not the beast alone
that hollowed the soul,
but the silence
that made a chamber for it.
The silence of fathers
who looked away.
The silence of mothers
who smoothed the tablecloth
and spoke of other things.
The silence of friends
who chose comfort
over confrontation.
Every unspoken word
became a shroud.
Every careful pause
became a nail.
Every smile that denied
became another grave.
The beast feasted,
not only on wounds inflicted,
but on truths unspoken,
on the complicity
of quiet mouths.
And so silence
killed more surely than rage,
for rage at least
named what was broken,
but silence gave it a home.
The deadliest weapon
that lays in the hands
of Death itself
is not the sword;
but the silence sharpened
against the soul.
What destroys us most often is not what is done, but what is left unsaid. Families, friends, communities.. complicity thrives in silence. Every unspoken truth becomes a stone, every quiet denial a grave. This piece speaks to the deadliest accomplice of the beast: not hatred, but silence.
And yet, even within silence, the cry still trembles. It leaks through scars, through hidden eyes, through the fragile flame that refuses to die.
These words are for every soul who has lived inside that chamber, unseen but not alone.
Plumb gives voice to that cry.
What if the “cut” is not a blade at all, but truth itself--
naming the wound, naming the perpetrator,
breaking the silence that becomes a second trauma
worse than the first?
Sharp though it is, such a cut
can become the only one that heals--
the deepest relief of all...
"Cut"
I'm not a stranger
No I am yours
With crippled anger
And tears that still drip sore
A fragile flame aged
With misery
And when our eyes meet
I know you see
I may seem crazy
Or painfully shy
And these scars
wouldn't be so hidden
If you would just
look me in the eye
I feel alone here and cold here
Though I don't want to die
But the only anesthetic that
makes me feel anything kills inside
I do not want to be afraid
I do not want to die inside
just to breathe in
I'm tired of feeling so numb
Relief exists, I find it when
I am cut
https://youtu.be/OJkqkWIpFAI?si=hMaAlmoUB_OnEoOG
Better the wound of truth than the grave of silence;
To those who have carried the weight of numbness,
Plumb’s voice becomes
their own cry of solidarity
xoxo
