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EAC Jan 2015
that falls motionless in waking dawn.
muffles the sadness within our souls.
mutes the voices within our heads.
holds us close when we're all alone.
that saves my drowning soul.
will help me grow...
Lou Dec 2017
If there were better words
I would sing 'em.

For now,
Silence is a crowd
And I'm making it as their leader.

Or only true believer,
In words.
Or lack of them,

It's a mute commute to what you want.

Was it my bad, behavior?
that was feeling you-
before you were feeling me
around my neck

I get it.
Out of respect
and for heart murmurs

Its true,
I can feel it;
Me, mute is a commute that you want

This train had to keep moving.
The conductors wife is at bay.
Many people are apologetic.
But many more have destinations to make.

Like crying baby.
And a grin,
from a lonely man in his gazing,
fading lying chair.

For you
And me-
In this booth.

Mute is our commute to what we want.
Mute is our commute to what we want.
Wrote this when someone was slowly fading out of my life
Lizzy Sep 2016
Why can't I write anymore?
I finally have something to say.
For the first time in months
I have something inside me
Begging to get out.
I have a weight
That compels me to speak
That needs to be communicated.

But my writing is all ****.
It's all the same now.
I can't think of
Anything new to say
Even though I feel the need
To put a pen to paper
And let the thing
That's been giving me headaches
Every night
Have its turn to speak.

What is it you want to say?
Monster? Ghost?
Whatever you are,
You're taking up too much space.
So say what you need to
And leave me again.

Are you trying to tell me
That you're lonely?
That you're tired?
That you're bored?

What the ****
Do you want me to do?
I'm just as powerless as you.
Umi Aug 2018
On that day which caused my voice to disappear,
All those around me rejoiced and had a feast, celebrating this moment
The words I say brought people tremor, fear or just pure hatred,
Everyone hated them the moment I moved my lips to convey along side them in hope to find someone who could become even a friend.
I was of course wrong all along, deserted for the reason that they found what I said in some sense weird or obscure, maybe irrational,
Was it my means or my purpose that scared them away ?
My looks or my style of conveying to appear more likable to them ?
In the end it didn't even matter for a second, as their false smiles carried the message of their fake friendship and intentions.
Maybe now that I won't have to converse with sound any further, those words of mine might reach someones heart and touch it instead,
But that is simply a distant dream, because everyone hates the words I say, perhaps it is meaningless to seek meaning in my useless self,
All I can do now is to heave in sobs,
Left behind, I can no longer even cry,

~ Umi
My Eyes, to confiscate those Notes on-board
My Ears, to abduct those shrill Tunes a-light
My Hands, to guide the Maestro of the Word
My Tongue, to speak of their Meaning's Delight
My Mind, to sprinkle the Seeds of their Songs
My Heart, to skip Jolly Tunes with a Jig
My Spirit, to sponge my Past Living Wrongs
My Soul, to sing your Legacy so big
My Hands, to applaud the Kingdom's New Band
My Chest, to parallel Vibes to your Beat
My Legs, to absorb that Brilliant New Dance
My Feet, to seal this Friendship with your Creed.
These Parts sum; Three Sick Sires and a Dame
And how my Laurels want to know their Name.
Hidden Horizon Mar 2018
My sweetest darling
My dearest
I am sorry to unveil to you who I truly am
For I am no more than a weak, voiceless man
A foolish, useless man whose burdens never let you rest

I am sorry for not being as amazing as you made me be
As beautiful as you are
As wonderful
As kind
I knew, as soon as I heard your voice, that you stole a part of me
I knew, upon setting my eyes on you, that I gave away my heart

Yet I am a man who can't sing you back to sleep
A man who can only hold you tightly as your tears fall
A man who can't tell you how much he needs you, misses you
My love for you silent but so deep
A man who can tell you nothing at all.

But darling
I love you
As much as I don't deserve you
But just as much as I want you to stay
I love you
More than my erratic heartbeat or my shaky hands as I write to you can convey
Because I love you
I love you more than I can ever say
A love letter from someone whose words never meet air. It was inspired by a very lovely fictional piece I read a while ago.
Spirit and matter
The light and the dark
left and right brained
the Ying and the Yang
an outspoken mute
a chaotic plan
mortal and eternal
a pacifist Warrior
ambidextrous hands
A foot on the ground
A head in the clouds
Silence and sound
A teacher a pupil
Reserved with no Scruples
A genius a fool
slave and the master
man I am God
feline and dog
reason and Insanity
A well planned Calamity
Planejane2 Dec 2018
I didn't say what I was thinking,
I let you have the last word.

I bit down on my tongue and let that awkward
silence get the best of me.
And you one upped me.

I gave you the strings & let you pull them.
I handed you the controller & you played me.
When things got out of hand, I placed them in your palms & let you get a grip on them.
I was fishing for the words to convey what I was trying to say, so I used my hands, but you told me to sit on them.

And I followed suit.

I didn't question it out loud,
But my body ached, my mind replayed the incident over & over.
My stomach turned.

I became deaf to what i was saying, and held onto your every word.
Turning a blind eye to anything that was wrong.
King Panda Apr 2016
I try to cry
but I can’t
I mute my tv
so I can hear
the pain reverberating
from my nostrils
like I am being
clamped together
in the fetal position
until blood squirts
out my ears

I try to cry
but I can’t
I mute the dog by
giving her a bone
I mute the sun by
drawing the shades

I try to cry
but I can’t
this muted pain
it’s locked in the attic
I mute my neck by
taping it to the fan
I mute my breath
with my belt

roll down my eye
to my lips
I want to taste
this ******* stupid world
for myself
Spicy Digits Dec 2018
You are my lover
My only lover
Whom the world
Shows its colour
And when you need
A tasty other
I am yours to smother

You are my well-girthed king
My only king
Hotter than a thermal spring
Pull on my apron string
Undress me
And impress me
****** me with your violin

Play me like a pan flute
My lover, my brute
Stroke my ego
My resolve is dilute
And you, my broken parachute
Will be my demise
Dating a psychopath
svdgrl May 18
Just a minute left before I should pinball out of my building doors
and speed over past the new high riser,
gust of wind pushing against my little body,
tiny amongst these buildings going up.
My eyes switch between the time and the streets,
My feet fall soft and I’m safe.
The trains not here yet and then it is,
and then I sit and I rip my book out of
my lunch bag, ticket tucked under my bookmark
In case the conductor don’t see me
I’ve been reading about the golden state killer.
Rye’s a five minute warning and then
I’m speeding out of another door down
the stairs past the elderly,
across one of the many ****** Port Chester
streets difficult to cross but I’m walking
my legs dart fast past the head shop and the bread shop
and my nose is filled with sweet and sour.
I walk faster- avoiding the CEO
he rides the same train and I don’t want to talk.
So I march forward and don’t look back.
I get closer and mentally flip off the line of five short men
catcalling me in Spanish, all the while peeking in to the brisa marina window
to see if there’s anything my herbivorous mouth could swallow,
but i don’t break my stride.
They’re practically a butcher anyway.
I climb the stairs to the entrance, stepping beyond the dead baby bird carcass
I was hoping some other animal would consume yesterday
and the avocado shell that would have been good to bury it with.
I try to shake the thought of impending doom as I swipe myself in
Still going as fast as i can so that I don’t have to hold the door open for the CEO
Call me petty, but I do enough of his bidding on a day to day
And I ascend to age 5 years for 10 hours.
And then I run home just to do it all over again the next morning.
Pyrrha Sep 2018
Carefully the needle penetrates into my skin
With every new puncture the thread follows along

In and out again and again
Till it reaches the end and finally
A harsh pull, a few tugs

Then the string is snipped free at last
Its been completely sewn shut

Only after you closed me up
Did you ask me how my day was
How I was feeling

But what could I say
With my mouth sewn shut?
Jamie Riley Apr 2018
They look out from the terrace.

At the borders of sight
live rocky hills behind brown
and golden and olive crop
under a cloudless sky.

Sun beams brighten motley roofs
on tessellations which blacken beige
in blurry air.


An artificial cloud.

“Look,” she points, “Let’s go!”

She takes him and they fly down stairs,
diving like sparrows
into the street.

Boys sprint across pavements and climb;
men vault over fences in time
for news to reach ears.

“They’re coming!
"¡Ya vienen!"

Excitement and fear.

The rattling of cow bells
and galloping nears.

Men bait and dodge horns
and escape through doors
and up and over
red wooden bars.

Sticks beat on the concrete ground
and drive the mute beasts's sounds.

Seconds away –
until the last,
he side steps into a house;



he runs through the foyer
and up the stairs
around a corner.

Long strides

too fast to follow.

She chooses left and
sings soprano
when doors won't budge

She turns and the fear is paralysing.


He hurdles the stares
and explodes
when it rams her
to and fro,
thrashing her head
against the wall
where horns
sin and gore
cement and brick.

He clasps the tail
and heaves its hide from
side to side as
hooves smash
crates of wine -
they slip and slide
in fractured glass,
he finds a horn
and yanks the head!
He's yanked instead
half dead before the men
arrive down stairs
to punch and kick it;
strike and stick it
smack and hit it;
'til it
fits and quits
and flees the foyer,
fast and frantic,
flying flustered
by the frenzy,
finally finding








"¿Que ha pasado?
  ¿Quien ha sido?
  ¡El Balbotin
  y la Chicha!
  ¡Que una vaca
  les ha pillado!"

Hands bleed
and flesh breathes.

"¿Estas bien?"

Dizzy, she tends to him
with searching hands,
and scolding words.

"Podria haber sido peor"
This poem is about an incident which happened to my Grandparents, Fermin Yanguas Ochoa and Raimunda Ramos Frias.

It was during a bull run in their village (Fitero) in Navarra, Northern Spain. 1972
Philia Mar 20
I need time to be alone.
To think,
to contemplate,
to pray.

I need time to be left unbothered.
To write,
to talk,
to find a muse.

I need time to be in a cafe,
or in a MRT or bus,
or in 40th storey building, looking at the dawn,
or in anywhere else.
only by myself.

I want to mute everything,
and everyone before me.

& Let my mind speak.
mariamme Jul 2018
they say the walls talk:
four, of blank off white,
plaster & wallpaper plastered
with whispered conversations
the years peeling like paint
& if you're silent like me,
you could hear the pain behind
& the pretty words too.
lovers from twenty years ago-
hear the flowers in their mouths
petals of lust against the grain.
stifled crying in the corner,
shadowed still & dusty
with months of neglect.
the past finds it's fingerholds yet,
creeping back into our homes
as though we had never left,
& neither had the others.
so many things are said
in the silence of four blank walls,
soon to be covered by
pretty things that cannot mute
the remembering of pain.
26 july 2018
Nat Lipstadt Jun 2013
Why Men Cry in the Bathroom

For so many reasons.
I will tell you the why.
I think you know,
Or perhaps, you think you know.

Men are always O.K.,
Even when not.

We expect the worse,
Accept the worse,
We are forever unprepared.

Wearily, we cry,
In the bathroom, in private,
Lest sighs slip by,
We be unmasked,
Early warring, strife signs warning.

Copious, tho we weep
Before the mirror confessor,
It is relief untethered,
Unbinding of the feet,
An uncounting
Of beaded rosaries,
Of freshly fallen hail stones,
Of night times terrors
By dawn's early edition's light,
and welcomed.

But look for the mute tear,
The eye-cornered drop,
*** tat, that never drops,
But never ceases formation and
Reforming, over and over again,
In a state of perpetuity of reconstitution,

The tippy tear of an iceberg revealing,
And I see you peeping, wondering,
What is beneath

Look for:
the torn worm-eaten edges of spirit,
thrift shop bought, extra worn,
grieving lines neath the eyes,
where the salt has evaporated,
discolored the skin.
worry lines,
under and above,
browed mapped, furrowed boundaries.
the laugh line saga,
where better days are stored,
recalled, as well as recanted,
publicly, privately.

Why just men?

I don't know,
it is all I know.

Jan 6, 2013
your effusive and lengthy comments are each a poem in their own right.  

Tinkered with June 22, 2013
With a push from Bala,
A serial peeper, thank God!
It's that Stubborn Fever which keeps the Mood
And forced your Jewels to croak a relapse
Since a Year's Half-Pie you hoarded the Good
And denied some Peers your Fortune, perhaps
Are these the Charges we must Debate
And defend the Truth of such Falsity
It is a Blessing. That the Watchman was late
To keep him from salting your Dignity
Never again. Will this Harper reject
And cut the Strings which Truth comes to rely
To re-wire each String and play Respect
Then tie on turtle-shells before it dies.
Long-Distance Friend. The Black-Knobbed Swan's voice mute
Flies away bleeding; And left out my Flute.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
Third Eye Candy Jun 2013
your soul is
what tumbles
from your old youth;
toothless, mute -
and beautiful.
it disputes the diluted musical
that unfolds you...
proof-less, your lute
is full.

your soul is
where you twist rocks and fell from -
a great height, below your skin suit, dull.
it drew you
with resolute ink, with a needle
and spoon...
etched on the cuticle,
a portrait
of your

you're every
Meteo Sep 2015
What was once green
finds grace
in falling
to sleep some day
beneath winter
snow storms on mute
through the anonymous eyes
of neighborhood
to dream
in degrees of spring
of blooms
waiting to ignite
inside of her

And I wait for her
of my mortality.
Andrew Rueter Oct 2017
I can't compute and become mute
When you walk by
My circuitry is fried
Because your program is an encryption
And your pulse is electromagnetic
My car dies, so does my phone, so does my home
I'm immobilized
And demoralized
By immoral ties
To temporary generators
They're validating veneraters
Ultimately unsatisfying
When you're still not buying
I'm attracted to your charge
Until there's a battery
Yet you're the cure to your lure
The EMT for your EMP

Your negative charge casts a cloud around my nucleus
But if you could be positive for a change
We could meet in the middle
And feel energy in our synergy
But as soon as I feel electricity between us
You shut me down
With your EMP
I can't get free
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