i keep looking
for the meaning
in small things --
like in the way she says
my name,
somehow it sounds
so right.
or how silence
still answers me.

If you think noise is loud
You haven’t been around silence enough

i say
"i don't care"
like it's a piece of armour --
almost like if i say it
enough
itll become
true.

but my soul,
it still aches.
in the middle of the
darkness,
in the silence,
it remebers
what my mouth
tries to forget.

i don't care.
but only
out loud,
the rest of me
still cares --
in the darkness,
and in the silence.

I lay on the bedroom floor, looking at the sky.
The blue filled sky with dandelions and hope.

The white petals cover the sky, as the yellow pistil covers my room with its golden pollen.

The pollen shines through the paper thin curtains,
that take the form of a star.

Star silhouette that reminds me of the one above Bethlehem,
the Nordic star that was to guide people to its saviour.

It gets me to wonder.
Am I shouting loud enough?

Am I shouting loud enough
for the petals to wither away and make gray the new blue?

Loud enough for the star
that was supposed to guide me through the misty paths with muddy pits that drown adventurous,
to lower its rays so they are no longer able to cut the surroundings with guilt?

Every ray of pollen that hits the windows and grass,
cuts right thru the paper thin curtains which reveal the dirt and dust the room is left in.

No matter the effort.
No matter the hope.
No matter the screams.
The dirt stays there.
It stays right where it’s left.

Time moves, places stay.
The star formed pollen shines through the paper revealing all its secret.

Wishes and screams it held inside,
Now being poured out onto the wall
in shapes and figures that tell
decades of stories,
decades of history,
decades of dirt.

Suddenly everything falls silent. Everything except the stories the curtains hold.

They whisper and talk,
cry and whimper,
shout and beg.

Everything happens so quietly that it is impossible to notice,
so quietly that even a snail that carries its whole world
would make a bigger disturbance.

The only thing that reveals the tragic game of monopoly and irony of music,
is the paper thin curtains that keep shouting and begging,
but still overpowered by the world around.

Noise, all I hear, this loud head,
Suggestions for all the ways to be
A vacuum, a void, with things left unsaid,
A voice unheard, left in the dark,
Tastes unseen, fear that they'd disappear
After a while, differences seem stark,
A clean room, on a bad day, appears a mess,
The walls seem to talk, with silence looming,
The quiet beckons me to a game of chess,
"How long can you play", it asks, "till you stop?
I can go on, it's my favourite game,
Will you keep going, until you drop,
Until you're nothing, till you forget your name?"