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a thousand apologies more will not
make spoken words unheard
annh Oct 13
My tongue is tethered to the words which have failed me.
‘There's really no such thing as the 'voiceless'. There are only the deliberately silenced, or the preferably unheard.’
- Arundhati Roy
When I hear that unheard lullaby
It makes a deep hole inside me
maybe, it reminds me of your heartbeat
If there's any memory in your mind
that I couldn't fill; a gap between us.
It wasn't your fault, if couldn't make it there
In the middle of June.
If you could look into my mind you would see thoughts of you all day long as if my spine is a never ending film reel of you.
If you could look into my heart you would see that you are the only one who resides in it. It's your fortress.
And if you could hear my heart beat a bit better you would not hear dub-lub but dub-love because love is all I have for you.
But you have always looked straight through me, haven't you?
And it was always me the one who was listening to you, wasn't it?
Can't seem to get you out of my mind or heart
,

     Kneel down and repent
     for you have sinned    
     In this town you fail to
     see those unseens;
     Trudge the steep cliff
     and hold the lethal knife.
     Stabbed thyself
     to free from one's life.

                  Filthy lucer won't be sealed,
                  neither from one's money.
                  Alack! No au revior shall be said,
                  for they inscribe rapacity.
                  Nestle in the arms of perils—
                  won't be freed from the angels.
                  Bestowed solace thru the guise
                  and besiege for some lies.

     Behold these men
     who **** just not to die—
     Bespeak Words to gratify
     death—to beatify.
     Deceive, for greed
     makes them alive.
     Perish, not to escape,
     neither hide—
     divulge truth; revive.
For the meantime, I will be changing my name to Sant Alessandro. I was known as the Primo Pollux a year ago and I became busy for such a long time. So, I am here to come back.
hybridstorm Jul 5
As I ride my bicycle,
Its wheel going a dull dum-dum-dum
on the veranda tiles.
I hearken to the straining of
the bicycle chain
and screeching o so soft when I turn the steering.
I feel as though something is changing in me.
A light cool breeze enters my chest,
expanding, releasing, expanding, releasing.
As I listen to the endless melodies of the stone tile,
I feel as though something is changing in me.
As I hear the faint yawn of the wheels,
I feel cracking, twisting, shedding,
and I realize,
the work of the bicycle and tile.

                                                                   -storm-
Change and wisdom may come from very unexpected places, it is your duty to pay attention, all senses and energies concentrated.
Poetic T Jun 6
The chirps of feathered friends
   serenaded her to sleep.
hues of magical memories that
fluttered upon her every dream.

You see she wasn't like you & me,
more unique than you could think.
She heard voices, but couldn't see
                                 a friend or foe.

You see she was a princess, with a
strict father who forbid  magic of
any kind. She meet a squirrel in the
forest and happened to see him
carrying his horde of nutty delights..
I swear I'm losing my nuts,
  glad you aren't losing yours little one.

"Me no, I know everywhere I've hid mine,
               I hide them so well I cant find
               them later, now that's nuts...

now that's good hiding your majesty.

"Did you just talk?

   Did you just understand my joke?

Nuts, your a whisperer, my lady.

           "I'm a what, what...

Please, whisper, there are ears everywhere.
             We used to have many friends
to talk too. But you are the first in generations.
                                           The others
they became candles that were extinguished.

My Father he doesn't like magic, he forbids its
words, actions. Even if it was to help he would..

         "Never let the snake bite you,

"the Snake,

"Your father is of magic, he absorbs those
he burns. the wood has runes etched into
its bark.. and a silent spell so they cant call
out to the others of there kind..

"Never shoe your value to him, for he will
                  not falter in his quest for dominance
of the elements and others. We tried to stop
him an age ago. But he burnt half the nation
to stop us... he used his whisper to make others
forget that he breath the fire from on high.

He pulled a star from the heavens to scorch us,
        we haven't tried since...
please be aware, be cautious.. learn your gift for
when you are older and learn to use others with
there offering you may fulfil your destiny as the
whisper of the wood..

Long live the queen of whispers...
Talie Mar 28
Words cannot express
all the pent up rage and sorrow
that comes with a harsh exchange,
the apparent pain
as self worth shatters
in isolation and fear.
Doubled over with doubt,
words pierce deeper
than any wound,
and their voices
were never heard.
Doomed.
Artem Mars Feb 26
If I had said something to you
would you have even heard my voice
we share blood
not exactly
but soon we will be miles apart
I wished we would've changed it
I wish we could go back
I wish you'd try to get better
Cause you made mom's heart go black
She cries all night
I could care less
She misses you
I wish I saw you as a mess
You are broken
She's torn
She's your second choice
You make her laugh when you're around
but little do you know
you're dragging her down
to be brutally honest, I wish
you would go
but that would mean
talking to shows
If I were to tell her all that I know
I'll reassure you,
you'd have no place to call home
And wouldn't that be fair
You never liked to share
You were lazy and never
showed that you care
I won't tell you, the things that I know
but what would that do?
No one would hope
The scotch tape I hold
And the glue that I carry
Will keep mom together, until I get married
Then I will know the struggles
you feel
Because we are one and the same
We stem from the same wheel
This is about my Step-dad and I would like to note, I'm sure he's a great person, but this is something I feel I had to write eventually, and he's not doing his part to heal. It's not his fault for how he is, it's because of his mental disorders. And I guess this poem takes it's roots in the fear that I and he are one and the same in the head. and I don't want to  go through life, tearing families apart like he does, because I've never seen a healthy relationship, I guess this is from the panic of 'what if I'm just as bad and I won't know how a healthy relationship looks'
ok rant over sorry
T R Wingfield Dec 2019
The music that lingers
in my mind when I awaken
is the rhythm of a life
of which I dream to live.

If I could get these symphonies
unlocked from the rooms
in which they reverberate and boom,
I would finally be who I know I should be,
but the rhythm's undone when I do come too;
I'm only ever left with the conclusion
that made my psyche break through-
A conclusion without the question,
a harmony without a melody,
a melody without rhythm,
a break without a build,
a crescendo undeserved.

I carry with me back to consciousness
no evidence of the brilliance observed;
no tally or tale or the things seen and heard.
But I know that I saw them;
I know what I heard.
I feel the rhythm inside me
and I hear the words.
I remember the beats
and the lost melodies.
Never-the-less...
they are incomplete...

just like me.

A clip of a phrase left to rattle around.
An earworm set to unheard sound.

"Dont be afraid
to get too wild"

These dreams are the compositions of some other soul
The music and musings of minds not my own
but I wonder in the early morning grey,

Do the people that I dream to be also dream of being me?



I awoke from a dream and slowly came too with a rhythm and the words that broke through.
And I am always so frustrated because there is no way to capture the song that I heard.
And there never has been.
I am no musical genius, but I know a good song when I hear one,
And I hear a lot of music.
Less now than before,
but I still find myself hallucinating wild bebop jazz
with trumpets and strings,
big band ballad piano swings,
deep house thumpers and jungle themes
Heavy metal string burners
And flamenco beats
In my dreams they are full compositions, with layers and evolution and meaning.  
I just can't remember the words, and the music of mind is not the music of the world, so I have no means to recreate it.
Mostly because I don't know where to begin.
Because the inception of the song in reality or dream,
is always a fugue of some other thing
some music or rhythm that broke away from the meaning it has in the world
and echoed until it became a song I heard.


Maybe when I die I'll get the lyrics sheet in heaven.
That's the only heaven I want.
The one with the words I lost in my sleep,
And the music of my dreams and hallucinations.
The soundtrack to my subconscious.
It's something to be heard.

It will be my Magnum Opus.
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