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#rawhonesty
...a diary of the falling dominoes chapter invisibly dying from the inside out no one is looking into unseen eyes no one can hear a muted voice fading no one is close enough to be near the deafening thrums echo anxieties’ racing heartbeat within morphing flesh shell , gasping for new breath in a hovering stale silence from a distance the broken mirror ricochets a subdued light ; much closer the reflection reveals someone I once knew by heart now an unrecognizable mask enshrouds a terminal emptiness inconspicuous at a fleeting glance , impossible to discern what storms rage from the inside out ,... unnoticed   an uncontained wildfire smoldering within,  lies in wait for the imminent winds of change to fan the flames into the final eternal silent ashes a poet reaches out demurely offering a candid look into the window of the imperfect human soul there is no poetry met by indifference just gathered unread words scribbled, squandered time dripped slowly on an empty page ; moments turn into days days turned into years invisibly dying from the inside out an unfinished life trickles out like seeping blood evanescing from a bottomless puncture wounding ... penetrating the heart, leaching out the slow death of a poet for poetry is only words unless they touch someone ... befallen to indifference is poetic death by salted paper cuts ... a muting suffocation that hiddenly erodes away, silencing the passion of a musing soul one unread word at a time ... © harlon rivers ... all rights reserved
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Jan 18, 2017
Jan 18, 2017 at 12:16 PM UTC
The Slow Death of a Poet
...a diary of the falling dominoes chapter invisibly dying from the inside out no one is looking into unseen eyes no one can hear a muted voice fading no one is close enough to be near the deafening thrums echo anxieties’ racing heartbeat within morphing flesh shell , gasping for new breath in a hovering stale silence from a distance the broken mirror ricochets a subdued light ; much closer the reflection reveals someone I once knew by heart now an unrecognizable mask enshrouds a terminal emptiness inconspicuous at a fleeting glance , impossible to discern what storms rage from the inside out ,... unnoticed   an uncontained wildfire smoldering within,  lies in wait for the imminent winds of change to fan the flames into the final eternal silent ashes a poet reaches out demurely offering a candid look into the window of the imperfect human soul there is no poetry met by indifference just gathered unread words scribbled, squandered time dripped slowly on an empty page ; moments turn into days days turned into years invisibly dying from the inside out an unfinished life trickles out like seeping blood evanescing from a bottomless puncture wounding ... penetrating the heart, leaching out the slow death of a poet for poetry is only words unless they touch someone ... befallen to indifference is poetic death by salted paper cuts ... a muting suffocation that hiddenly erodes away, silencing the passion of a musing soul one unread word at a time ... © harlon rivers ... all rights reserved
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Hidden between these lines, there’s a story— a blessing and a curse all at once. Every word holds a chapter. Every rhyme carries a life— the joy, the love, and the quiet, hidden strife. My poetry is a mirror. It shows you my soul without ever raising its voice. The pain I carry, the story I rarely share, finds its way into the verses— raw, honest, and laid bare.
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Mar 3
Mar 3, 2026 at 7:14 AM UTC
Verses of the Unspoken