There’s a silent invisible in every person
And in you it strains to be read,
Like the creased pages of a forgotten diary
Spilling delicious secrets not meant to be shared
Like you it begs for the unspoken cue
From the boy who would tilt his head and listen,
But until then the mental melody you weave most beautifully
Knows only the tear tracks on your cheeks that glisten.
So on the day your voice slips through the cracks,
The cobweb dreams you bottled up in fear set free
I pray they won’t grow weary with unuse;
I pray he’ll let hear your silent muse,
ring crystal with no apology.
The silent invisible in this poem can be taken to mean different things, hidden secrets, discarded dreams, hopes, memories, troubles, ideals.
I wrote this last week feeling rather contemplative. Always wonder whether the passing of time will yield my share of thoughts to be spoken and who is it that will take the effort to listen to their worth. I guess it’s because I’ve confided in the wrong people in the past which led to poor consequences so now I’m more careful about the people whom I choose to share them with...
Nonetheless, my silent invisible still strains to be heard.
