"aphonic" poems
The curtain of night descend upon the sky. It is aphonic, psychotic and dark.
Perpetually calling for daylight, but it is hours before the sun can, if, reply.
Those remote, desolate hours are intolerable, hurtful.
They bring the piercing screams of silence and poignancy.
My wasteland is inhabited with moribund trees in the middle of spring.
This world knows regrets and disingtegrating logic.
Although the constant clouds conceal my world, no sign of rain befalls the thirsty earth.
The trees curved to the scorched ground, seeking mercy, weary and restless of this static infertility.
The throats of the passing birds have dried, no song can brighten the sky.
Insipid and dimlit, not even the sun can filter through the clouds or the thickness of the fog.
Somewhere in this world my body awaits demise.
This decaying rationality bringing peril and incoherence, not a breeze or a murmur of rain,
to quench the aching and consuming thirst.
I beg in silence, but the words seem to hang confined in this inclemency, alone 'till my waking hour.
The curtain has not risen, the night still falls in place.
How long before I can succumb to oblivion and quiesce this raging, tormentig thoughts?
There is no answer to follow the question because I am this world's, this hell's, this limbo, wretched creator.
And so with cracked lips, with ragged breath and stinging chest I remain in the inside of this deserted, and cracked state of mind.
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 10:33 PM UTC
The vile of acid touches his tongue,
It is bitter, burning and horribly wrong.
Lost or found, anything goes.
His slipping mind and this aching crime.
Everything ruptures corrupted by life,
even white in the black shallow mime.
Stupid, ******** Why can't he talk?
The shadows dance on the dark,
alluring and cunning giving a spark.
Observe the scorching rays of light!
Neon and blinking on this gruesome night.
The spinning, spiralling world, and this opening void,
Every thing confusing this young, troubled boy.
Look at him! Look at him dance,
to the tune of an aphonic trance.
Blurred reflections on condensed mirrors,
terrible headaches, and vicious tempers,
Everything shifting on such hazy conditions but,
Will he dance and regret again?
This grotesque and stupid addictions.
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 11:22 PM UTC
A single word kept the rhyme incomplete
I was aphonic another single time
a beauteous glimpse was so unquiet
those azure eyes were threshing different paradigm
agape,abomination,hysteria
melts, occur same
Unquestionable awe and questionable assimilation
scorns me, in foiled shame
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 5:04 PM UTC
rev up a **** whacker
a power you are not used to vibrates up your body and through your arms and rattles your teeth
a sort of dentiphone that forces you to listen to the sound of gasoline fueled madness
a power you are about to abuse on the aphonic wings of a butterfly
a sort of way to seminate bits of shredded beauty
a butterfly is caught up in plastic death
a regret you are not used to vibrates up your body and through your heart and rattles your morals
a sort of accident that was waiting to happen that forces you to listen to the sound of fate
a regret you are about to suffer from until the day when your memory gives out
a sort of way to remember you are the murderer of a soul that most do not consider a soul
you didn't like butterflies anyway.
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 6:06 PM UTC
#052816
Career is calling me,
Ringing for several times.
My thumping heart says,
"These're your dreams, why not give it a try?"
Lingering deep down on my marrows,
An illusion of deception,
An escape to higher dimension.
Yes, I want to be who I wanna be,
But when not in Christ, it'd be a shattered me.
Calling isn't ringing at all,
But he's bumping down my inner soul.
He's not my type but there's something in him.
That waiting becomes a rest that's a prerequisite.
I'd required so much for myself;
At times, rest becomes a chapter to close
I'd to wipe every single misfortunes of old
I'd rather face this moment of yes to His call.
Praying to God led me to found the key,
The gist to a rebel who's vault is in an alley.
Dreams of old, faults of such degree
Of burnt, unwrapped -- an ambushed stealing of me.
"What have you done?"
One voice tamed the thousands,
Bring halt the aphonic mimics of who's legit.
Found myself showered w/ crystal-clear tears.
Awaken, tattooed the psyche of self;
Trashes became a view, floating with the unrest ocean.
I hear no breeze nor its whispering fears,
But fear itself, a coated-candy of trampled gears.
May 27, 2016
May 27, 2016 at 10:58 PM UTC
An endeavour to grasp the ardent;
trying to sooth the seething, the fervent-
-ly glimmering stars cleaved and concised,
misgiven and juvenile; yet far hind-tarded:
"The fool burned trying; and the starlet free."
And here I recon; I concede-
readily and consequently,
in admiration; in recede:
captivated, inadvertently.
Smitten and bewitched; I'd stay,
expedient and unruly:
"My sight I have bargained; all for one seething spectacle."
With this I stray, unlighted and aphonic;
I leave my sentiment in silence.
Mar 18, 2018
Mar 18, 2018 at 9:21 PM UTC
if you ask me
what i love,
i could give you a long list
of who and what.
but in my top three
would be clouds.
and im sure by now
if you've gotten this far..
you've asked yourself
or the device you're reading this on --
why?
why does this
random user like clouds?
give me a moment,
ill tell you in a few sentences..
it's because they tell stories.
their shapes
and stories are aphonic.
they speak to you
but not really.
that's why i love them.
you don't
know
what is "said"
but you also
know
what is "said"
at the same time.
which is such
an odd out of body
experience.
if that makes any sense
to a sane person.
Sep 22, 2025
Sep 22, 2025 at 11:01 AM UTC
_
In a lemon zest field
of goldenrod and lavender,
where butterflies frolic
in calm breezes
on a warm springtime afternoon
and shade trees cool the day
with outstretched arms of nature,
an aphonic cloud approaches,
menacing in proportions,
clinging to a frightened sky
Swirling leaves and mingled debris
like shrapnel of days long gone
Beneath life ceases to exist
as frayed discolored blooms
litter the now vacant wasteland
and roots exposed on a parched
desolate earth burn
in umber tinted weepings,
coughing of dust bowl deliveries,
while cataclysmic calamities
bring forth the wrath
of the end
And as the cloud finally passes,
dissipating in a mist of forgotten fears
making its way to a darker universe
now waiting on
the other side of hope,
sunlight returns from pale blue skies
slowly breathing, exhaling the past,
inhaling the future…
a lone butterfly appears
fluttering amidst tiny green sprouts
peeking through a new born soil
and so it begins…again
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 2:08 PM UTC
Of a brewing silence
and buried emotions
we’ve built a house
walled with doubts
our interior decor
layered with rancour
Scattered ornaments
cloak our armaments
Oft engaged in aphonic wars
We rack up our scores in
crystal-clear jars
Jun 9, 2020
Jun 9, 2020 at 6:47 PM UTC
I close my eyes and at once its mute echo chimes
I listen and interpret the lush lilting lyricism
Of nature's sultry emerald chanteuse
As the chorus of everyday cacophony subsides a subtler sonnet is crafted
And upon the lyre of thoughtful psyche a cord profound is struck
I open my heart to the wordless whisper of Creation's vital hymn
I fete my soul and intuit the soft sensual throb of infinity's passionate pulse
I clear my mind of mundane traffic
To yield a higher concentration expansion
That the exquisite rhapsody of hush may be relished without clutter's jam
I close my eyes and its womb of calm envelops me
Content I reside at the aphonic court of its vast placid empire
The eloquent serenade of its sublime soundless concert
Steeps me in its solace
The still deep music of silence the sweet unbroken score
Of Pax's savored measure
Jul 10, 2016
Jul 10, 2016 at 4:28 PM UTC