The true spoken words
Are those that are unspoken
But speak for themselves.
A dream becomes a nightmare,
when you dream it alone.
A poem becomes empty,
when it's meaning is lost.
Joy becomes a burden,
when you keep it a secret.
But how can the circle be broken,
When your dreams are meant to be kept a secret.
So you don't lose your last chance to not end up all alone.
The answer is hidden in the words I cannot say
Born, love bereft, in the land of plenty
the Unspoken ― lost in the silencing Voice
hidden by an ordinary unseen Blindness
a back road Black-Sheep abiding on latent edge,
cast aside ― wanting, Thirsty ― Hungry
The words an orphaned Child’s reluctant voice
Lorn ― concealed in neglected Heartbeat
empty silence Etched unfairly in stone
fate Flavored with a stout sweetness ― sullied
Self-molded and shorn gently alone
“necessity the mother of invention”
A fistful of mercy ― A motherless child
Love forsaken waif, only own heart knows
Came the urge for wandering away from the fold
when a Black Pall of living clouds gathered
befogging the sky like an aging loneliness
The birds they were all flyin' groundward
where stood a wholly emancipated shadow
the Whirring murmuration surging
undulating up against the land of plenty,
just before the sky's falling;
heaven’s tears streamed away down the sky
a River summoned by the voice
the absolving Sea
© harlon rivers ... May 2017 ... all rights reserved
Upon unspoken words,
I lie next to you.
Like a whispering wind,
I blow my kisses into your beam,
as I watch you devour my dreams.
Our love is like a beckon;
no ships will crash upon our shores,
as long as our moon shines brightly
from our lovers moor.
© By Amanda D Shelton
Writing down these thoughts.
These words.
Imagining your wondering eyes.
Looking over and studying my unspoken words.
The things I could never say.
Or the things you never bothered to even ask.
You see I wish you knew more about me.
Not the normal questions.
But the deep unsensored questions about life.
What kind of tea do I like?
How many creams and how many sugars?
What is my favorite genre of reading and how many books do I have?
Which do I like better, sociology or psychology?
You will never know these answers.
Because you will never ask questions like these.
These unspoken answers will never slip threw my lips.
With these beautiful. Words.
Quinquennium, two moons ere midsummer's eve
Amore entombed; clandestinely, I cleave
Haunting, daunting, even on waking eyes
Grateful, I was, charnel did not suffice
Atop tower of spice, my Star ensconced
Horseless carriage scorched the road, innards conched
Sworn meeting's ripe with anticipation
Longed to see this friendship's progression
Bulwark stood guard, nigh foot of the mountain
Levee treacherous affection, contain
Celestial sight roused earthquakes in this chest
Released the dam, alluvion that is best
Thy beauteousness, a marvel with purpose
Ineffable, even with grand verbose
Wise and fair, thoughtful eyes, smile, oneiric
Prithee, grant pardon this humble lyric
Cafe at midnight with a friend,
brewing a fresh freedom of life.
cold coffee, lemonade with ice.
Chilled minds but unspoken words around.
Not knowing why is it so difficult to utter a word
and it only happens to be a sigh!
Empty chairs and a group of people inside.
me, my friend but with not a single word
staring into the phones
only thinking why is it so difficult to start our talks
after a so called time being along!
When word bleeds out of silence,
they tell stories...
The unspoken that runs deep,
celestial.. .
Numb … defined not taken
Passion… Pursued not travelled
Family, friends, foes… no lover
Devour by false hope I crumpled like a blanket;
a vision of comfort I stay still
Crippled by more and tortured by hope
We alter reality with this dream world
We run through the footpath of same direction
And ordered to behave when every one is on default
Soul tortured and expended so many times ----
Enlightened moment it just passes me by
Deranged with anger, smile covers the bruises
Miracle of moment, I am in full exhalation
I hold on tight but it slips through the crack
Sanity of joy turns into a wrath
How many times can one take a beating?
When I was on the floor and continuously bleeding,
As you push your self up to delineate the undertaker
I am still numb, and all the words are unspoken.
There is some magic
In the words left unsaid
A parallel universe exists
within those unspoken things
where the limitless open sky
is tempting you
to open your wings,
And fly
the wind blowing through your face
produces music of its own...
Only if you can listen
between all the things real
there is imagination
across all the desires
there are dreams
amid this silence,
there is music
there is magic
there is love.