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I’ve hidden lost sermons in my casual breath.
I folded them tight, pushed them into sarcasm.
We laughed at the joke, but you missed the ambiguity.
Some words only sharpen once their form leaves a chasm.

Some things we call unstable, wrong, or unfit—
Become relics we look to, only once their time’s gone.
No one hears the meaning of a prophet, mid-scream,
But we quote them the day that their truth breaks the dawn.

Some of us never even asked to be understood,
We can only hope to echo in your afterthought.
Because truth’s never loud—It’s subtle... Its dissonant…
So, its often mistaken, or ignored left to rot.

I live like a myth half-believed by its maker.
I pulse in and out, like static through wires.
My silence burns louder than sermons of choirs,
In golden temples built on sinful desires.

I left signals in inkblots, on letters I never sent,
And in the way that I’d pause before saying goodbye.
One day you might study those absences closer—
They’ll sing of my essence when I can no longer try.

Cause I once left my essence outside in the rain.
Just to see if it rots, or if a new one would sprout.
Turns out, it likes to sing—but only backwards,
And only to those who tried blocking it out.

This left me so lost that I swallowed a compass,
Just to feel in my gut, something real point to me.
But the needle kept swaying like my body still does.
Some directions are given, some were never meant to be.

If you were to ask me what my words really mean,
I might say, “What makes you think they mean anything?”
Meaning is a parasite; it only lives when it’s fed—
And I’ve starved that parasite to death. Repeatedly…

There’s a hallway in me that will never lead out—
Just dissociates to ensure you’re alone.
The paradox is fixed. You can’t change its course.
You’d rather tread blind, but it demands being shown.

I might carve these bitter truths into the air.
Won’t  see them, but you’ll cough, and know they were there.
You’d blame me for the smoke, and you’d call me unstable.
Ignore my intention, or you might not even care.

And maybe I am filthy, misbegotten, and unstable.
But when my tremors stop, I hope you notice my frame.
And the glow that I buried, might finally surface.
Then you might learn to love me for the darkness you shamed.

You might quote this clean, rid my words of the blood.
Say my signals were sent, from the God in your head.
When you sing my sad sonnets, you might guild them in gold.
I promise... This sounds so much better when I’m dead.

©
♦ Đerek Λbraxas ♦️
"The Quantum Bound Poet"
sometimes when I talk
my brain moves faster than my mouth
leading to jumbled up words and stutters
most people don't care what I have to say
so I stay silent
barely a word slips from my lips
you can say I'm shy
but what do I have to say
if nobody listens
KindyGifty Mar 9
My heart is bruised by the weight of hope,
Bleeding from the jabs of disappointment.
Scarred from trusting too much,
Yet still reaching, still yearning.
I gave too many people a chance,
Though my heart could only take a little.
But my kindness was just a whisper to them,
A fleeting moment, forgotten too soon.
Why do people hurt me?
Why do they not care?
I showed them love,
Yet they left me empty.
Ylzm Mar 3
Trees silent and still its sufferings strange
But happening below unseen who knows
From electrons to cells to worms and moles
Its cries heard in the depths of earth
Its agonies pain the highest heavens
All life reached and touched and soothed
Its griefs mutually shared and resounded
And heavens weepingly reassure in every tear
That evil judged and nothing's futile
Greater yet the glory surpassing the beauty
In every branch, leaf, flower and fruit
Speak, though the world may not yet hear,
Your voice a melody, unique, clear.
In the symphony of life, each note dear,
The universe listens, always near.
Syafie R Jan 20
I know the way, 

but my body has forgotten

what it feels like to move.

Each breath is a weight I can’t lift,

each step a promise I can’t keep.
I’m losing myself in a room

where the lights are on,

but no one’s looking.

I’m here and not here,

a name no one calls,

a shadow no one sees.
What’s left when you’ve gone

but no one notices?

What’s left when the silence

is all you’ve become?
Elle Jan 7
If I could only tell you
You're not alone
I would
If I could only tell you
I know
That when the world is sleeping
You silence your cries
But you still hope to be heard
I would
If I could only tell you
I hear your heart
Screaming for someone to understand
I would

If it means one less hurting person
I'd tell you
You are loved, heard, and understood.
Ariannah Nov 2024
I have a secret obsession,
Which I could never admit.
It's like an unheard question,
That'll be forgotten to infinite

I have a secret obsession,
Like kids obsess over growing up
And adults over perfection;
Chasing dreams that never stop.

I have a secret obsession,
You'll never guess what it is;
But I'm guessing I could only give you this:
You're the truth I can not mention, due to my secret obsession.
Wary Nov 2024
The loudest silence, felt by one yet unheard by others, is the quiet tremor of a heart splintered in solitude.
The most intense sound, felt but unheard.
Rose Sep 2024
Often, but not always,
It feels like talking to a wall.
You do it without knowing,
Like I'm talking to no one at all.

Every now and then,
You may throw in a word.
But you're still not listening,
And I'm left unheard

Maybe I should stop trying,
Keep it all in my head.
I'd rather speak less,
Than be ignored instead.
The feeling of speaking but not being heard.
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