"muteness" poems
In Nero’s private stage,
Disaster was
His audience. Rome mimics fallen Troy in play.
What was reflected in Nero’s eyes
when he sang of the swirling patterns
of fire? When Rome was caught burning;
When conspiring led to its fall.
Fire engulfed Rome with fiery teeth.
The clouds hide or faint into black smoke.
The skies bleed heavily with rust
Its brassy color mixing with the
*** of burning seas, like oceans melting
Could you not feel the sun’s weight?
Now it is incomparable to
Molten seas and softened lead!
Blood spilt from sea-point, waves wallow the cries
Of the fallen. Like a bellowing sound marching
Against caverns of ears, Copper soldiers
Melt into clouds oozing with emotion,
Shattering their now empty metal hearts,
Hollow hearts that outlive the muteness.
It is awakened when
Spark and light is absent.
(Paolo Jerome D. Cristobal / June 26, 2009 - Alabang)
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 7:09 AM UTC
There is freedom in isolation,
in being idle and invisible,
where one could sit in muteness,
swim widely in dusk and ask,
"Am I really here,
if no one is around to see?"
A different kind of suicide
There is pleasure in being a shadow,
in pretending you don't exist,
to avoid acting like you do
Solitude isn't a time for me
to let myself free
but rather a time to free myself
from who I am
Outside the confinement of company,
I am anyone and anything,
I am someone else, somewhere else
I am alive,
but I am no one
I am alone
a.r.
Dec 14, 2019
Dec 14, 2019 at 3:01 PM UTC
Blowing silence
like a bugle
to announce his dismay
he got set
to make a statement
without speaking for a day
but his mother
just assuming
he had nothing much to say
sent her silent
revolutionary
son outside to play;
outmaneuvered
in the kitchen
by his mother's disregard
for campaigns
of wild muteness,
the rebellion fell apart
to the sound
of scuffing shoes
and the grumble in his heart
'cause silent protest
tends to lose
when no-one's listening very hard..
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 1:21 PM UTC
Screeeeeeeechhh!
Thud!
Silence!
Hearts stopped
Faces turned
Jaws dropped
Prayers began
He left his assembled bricks and wood and furniture
and ran
ran towards the sunset
with nothing
but his silhouette following him
even years later
it felt like yesterday
possessed
he ran as fast as he could
Prayers began
blurry shapes hoarded around the car
his eyes refused to close
against the horror
of what lay beside
his high crushed
into water
his delusion failed him
his brain froze
He ran as fast as he could
to the beach
wanting to walk into the water
wanting to stop breathing
seeking unfathomable peace
that final peace
His brain froze
get out of the car
people shouted
was a life lost
he didn’t dare to find out
he just wanted
a few seconds back
just a few
seconds
back
please
That final peace
eluded him
waves silenced
by his cornucopia of emotions
his eyes now refused to open
the saltiness of the beach
was overcome
by tears
that flowed in secrecy
inflaming everything within reach
embracing his cheeks
toying with his lips
Please
callanambulance
sheisbleeding
somebody
tieyourshirtaroundherbleedinghead
isittoolate
is it too late
Toying with his lips
tears turning into questions
could I ever forgive myself
his sobbing heart
didn't acknowledge the question
it just faded
he lived
with himself
he died within
Is it too late
his wife asked
holding his hands
breathing heavily
her eyes averred
every moment that they shared
their feuds
their make ups
their teasing
their loving
her eyes were done speaking
and now they rested
He died within
wailing like a baby
he slept there
with parched eyes
reminiscing her parting words
etched in his heart
etched so deep
that it bled internally
bled and ached
to release a shriek through muteness
muteness, deafening
deafening his emotions
making them oblivious to his existence
his fists clenching
the vacuum of solitude
the moon and waves began their tango
and the water rose
higher and higher
embracing him within
maimed to be saved
releasing a gushing hymn
for she was now deemed
forever with him.
Jul 28, 2012
Jul 28, 2012 at 11:38 AM UTC
I smelt the rose of death and Its aroma
Was sweet decay, I took it in each breath.
Its thorns were beautifully onyx shining
Decomposition in shaded light.
Its pollen was like cyanide on my senses,
I took a last breath, oblivion greeted me.
I was silent but in my muteness it blossomed,
Feed on the remnant of flesh and flourished.
Aug 17, 2015
Aug 17, 2015 at 2:51 AM UTC
wrists cry
hemaglobin tears
washed away by
shower steam
and daydream fears
your knife-wielding hands
clenched to the bone
my roar now dwindled
to a gentle hum
your selective deafness
my self-inflicted muteness
our perpetual daze
i wanted you to hear me so
i screamed my voice away
Aug 21, 2021
Aug 21, 2021 at 10:17 PM UTC
760
Most she touched me by her muteness—
Most she won me by the way
She presented her small figure—
Plea itself—for Charity—
Were a Crumb my whole possession—
Were there famine in the land—
Were it my resource from starving—
Could I such a plea withstand—
Not upon her knee to thank me
Sank this Beggar from the Sky—
But the Crumb partook—departed—
And returned On High—
I supposed—when sudden
Such a Praise began
’Twas as Space sat singing
To herself—and men—
’Twas the Winged Beggar—
Afterward I learned
To her Benefactor
Making Gratitude
2.2k
Dead thoughts feed this Lilly, ever drinking
As she picked them free to wear upon herself.
She smelt the aroma of a dead mans thoughts,
Intoxicating was death to her every self.
Gazing upon this jar of silent looks eyes forever
Closed, to open nevermore life is restrained.
This wasn't the only flower she was to grow,
All would have the scent of deathly thoughts.
Each will drink upon a suspended moment of
Muteness, only the flowers would speak with scent.
Come to this place of the silent reflection, entice
Oneself with the scent of a dead ones thoughts.
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 11:40 AM UTC
you wrote me
within the lines on your palm
like a fragrance
held back too long
i hold this space
finding no cause for fear
in this unspoken emotion
that hangs between us
like a cozy muteness
our eyes
are two cliffs
pulled apart,
our stolen glances
daring to vault across
burn into my consciousness
the visions that you see
make me unburdened
of this cold i feel
and let me
join your flight
over the stars
or
repose with you
on the soft grass
read to me
and let me
sing you a lullaby
this is what life
should be all about.
- Vijayalakshmi Harish
04.06.2013
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 1:42 AM UTC
Sometimes I wish I lost my ability to speak
So I could stop saying anything
Without the stress of filling silence
and trying to impress, to entertain.
I fantasize about this everyday
Miss Social Butterfly flying away.
The talkative girl without a thing to say.
No more judgment. No more tears.
I could just smile and nod
to whatever you say.
No opinions. No arguments.
No longer worrying about
filling the awkward pauses others leave,
ridding the quiet of the late evening.
Being me, instead of pretending.
Instead of always talking without saying anything.
I talk and talk
and don't mean a thing I say at all.
I work to be the person
everyone wants me to be.
Outspoken and Independent
all the while wishing someone would stick up for me (speak for me)
instead of working to stand up for everybody.
Peaceful Muteness. Still and Stopped.
If I only didn't have a voice
to take for granted
and abuse
by speaking things without thought or meaning
then maybe, I would be happy
in speechlessness
just blending into the backward
and disappearing
going against my nature
and vanishing into the
background shaking of heads
and becoming only a ****** expression.
in the distance.
Oct 9, 2010
Oct 9, 2010 at 12:30 AM UTC
Night was ruled
by deceit, every moment,
deepening shadows moved
with poisionous intentions,
knives of sharp lights
they hid behind their back.
An authoritarian owl,
angrily kept threatening its opponents,
by repeatedly stabbing
the silence of the night,
with his shocking hoots.
When the cadaverous moon
slyly came out of cloud thickets,
trotting foxes hiding
behind gravestones,
made intermittent eerie howls,
lacerating the dark muteness.
A mighty night bird,
off and on, drew its shadow,
across the moon's surface,
but never felt satisfied
The barking dogs
all at once stopped,
and created panic.
Like death knell,
wind made noises,
on the foliage of trees.
A dejected lover,
wrote a melancholy note,
spilling out sad thoughts,
in the faint light
of a dying oil lamp.
An adulterous woman,
impatiently waited
near her half opened window,
looking out for
her midnight paramour,
who never keeps time as promised.
The night stood still,
spreading its serpent hood,
listening to million secret sounds
watching everything,
without batting an eyelid.
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 3:49 AM UTC
Offence has no real validity,
Yet it is used to justify the taking of lives
Is there one, that the world does not offend
If so that person has not lived or felt,
Warlords, rapists, racists, murderers and those who are cancers on society walk among us daily
Those who profess to know the will of god and act on his behalf,
Perceiving and executing unhelpful dogma that infects our reality
The words respect and correctness have become harbingers for cowards,
As our muteness silently strips us of our freedom,
Apologies are offered gift wrapped in fear
Sticks and stones still break our bones but pictures and words now **** us**
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 8:26 PM UTC
"""@,,,,@""'@,,,,@"""
sing to the King of kings
worship our mighty Lord
maker of everything
mountain to shore
sing of His faithfulness
worship His Holy Name
bow to His countanance
always the same
bring Him a song of hope
bring Him a song of faith
sing Him a song of love
all who have breath
creation speaks aloud
stars have their tales to tell
waves on the distant shores
whisper in shells
all of earth's creatures
cry out their stories
listen and you will hear
God's Glory
they bring Him songs of hope
they bring Him songs of faith
they sing Him songs of love
unto their death
lost ones speak muteness
people without a spark
closed mouths of unbelief
sleep in the dark
Lord, wake the silent ones
open their ears to hear
part lips to cry out loud
with love and fear
let them join in the choir
teach them a new thing
let every mouth proclaim
Christ Jesus King
soulsurvivor
(C) 2/26/2009
Aug 2, 2015
Aug 2, 2015 at 1:49 PM UTC
Sarah last wrote a poem
Around New Year's Eve
I wonder where her poems are
They seem to have drifted
Very far
She has not been seen
Nor her words heard
Around the world
As they were
Last Year
I hope muteness is not
Her New Year's resolution
As a solution
To something
I wonder how is Sarah
The angry Poet
And how are the men
At the end of her pen
Sean Hunt
Jan 9, 2016 Windermere
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 11:05 AM UTC
I am a tangled web of scars
Seen and unseen
Man and child
Accustomed to the cold and dark
A black serpent writhed in my chest
The deepness of his fangs and the pull of his grasp
Leaving me swollen, bruised
There is patience in the crook of your arm
Contrasting the track marks in mine
You dine alone at a table set for two
Your fingers dance about the cold glass of water
Inaatiable is the pull
Pure in in its testament
Slender chased- taut silent
You observe from the corner
I cannot read your eyes
The crushing blue beings bring muteness to my lips
Warm and gentle is the caress of your smile
Your hand warms my cheek
Warming me as a leaf in mornimg sunlight
Daunting mountain of time
I shall climb restless and hungry to prove
But surely this love is true
Tried by fire yet not found wanting
I am entbralled by the organic machinery
Such blue veins upon a pale backdrop
A complexion so radiant
I avert my eyes : unworthy
I am the broken down wall
Irreparable by Hunan hands
But you grow as vines of green ivy
Between the cracks starving for sun
One day the ivy will consume
And lily blossoms will appear
For all to gaze upon and know
Unselfish love so pure
Teied by fire
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 12:05 AM UTC
I REMEMBER.
It was not like any other moment.
I was standing in my ward.
The ever dark and cold closure.
My dampened single-bed room.
My four-walled medium.
While, it was outside, so calm and still
Must be hibernating.
But poor creature, it waited
Waited, just a handspan
away from my window pane.
And my bolted glass window
did not welcome it.
And so it waited, settled
Closely watching another soul like itself.
I stood more like a rock
Staring at that pallid one.
Communicating in dead-muteness.
A despirited eye-contact.
In a moment or so, I slash
Slash my burdened eyebrows
O'er my wet eyeballs.
Apologizing for my plight
Of unexplainable helplessness.
And it waited there, calm and still,
Hearing my unspoken Testimony.
Thus we waited staring at each other
And between us was the adamant
Glass Window - slumbering soullessly!
It was darker than me.
But was getting paler and paler.
And I stood at the same spot
Staring and blinking
Waiting for it to flutter away.
Afterall, unlike me,
It had a huge space to fly.
And I know that, for I've stared,
Out of the window before,
The whole world.
But it stayed there
As if, afraid of flying, like me.
Hands swept across the clocks
And It turned paler to a fairer one
Stained with frozen crimson red veins.
And by twilight
the fair creature broke its penance.
Got blown by the breeze
And laid on the soft snow
On the concrete floor.
Then there was voidness.
Nothing to stare at.
No more soul to share my story.
I stood there, calm and still
But this time a tear rolled down
From my sunken eyes.
And then I closed my eyes
in prayer and wished
for the courage to
Shatter the glass window
And jump out
To become a gravestone
For my li'l pal's corpse.
Aug 8, 2012
Aug 8, 2012 at 11:28 AM UTC
Dear Mercy Girl,
I know the nights when the tears come in silent screams
But the screaming music should block out everything
I am the pins and needles in your fingertips, held captive underneath your thighs
As they itch to grasp the cold metal
That cuts hot
Opening your skin like a present on a random day
That isn’t your birthday
But that doesn’t faze you
Because you’ll collect smiles where you can find them
I know the fireworks in your chest
The tearing of muscle and tissue but I promise your heart is okay
I am the knot that forms in your throat
You swallow me but I’ll just grow in the pit of your stomach…
Let yourself write tearless words of someday, one day inspiration,
Vindication that you feel
I know the emptiness,
The emotionless façade
Broken by the deafening muteness of your cries for help
You’re helpless,
Hopeless, but hoping
For anything
Except the numbness that envelops you.
And I know the numbness
That keeps you cold as you open yourself
Hot
Blue burns red,
But didn’t you know feeling isn’t your friend?
I am the stairs screaming in protest under the sudden weight of your mother coming to check on you
Because you are loved.
Hide your knife, the only weapon you need tonight is that smile
Promising you love her too.
I know the nights when the sound of your own breathing is too much noise
So I become your heartbeat
Feel me remind you that you’re still alive.
Because I feel everything.
And I feel you.
So when you need to talk about nothingness, let me be there.
You don’t need to wrap yourself in long sleeves and your scarred arms,
Share with me your troubles.
You’re too young and alive to be dying alone.
-A friend.
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 1:36 PM UTC
Madame Blaine isn't happy.
Every night his apparitions appear
and they're getting darer by the day
(sorry, by the night).
Her fault she didn't tell him to go
the first few days on the southern window
rather she felt bad as he stood out there
thought it better to offer him chair.
His hesitation stoked her kindness
not much she would lose if sat face to face
recapitulating life they were together
barring the first few spent talking the weather.
Once in the room he gave her his ears
(or so it seemed)
as she talked of loneliness with hint of tears
blinking and nodding an occasional sigh
but not once offering a courtesy of reply.
He would sit unobtrusive in the gentlest manner
till his proposal last night dropped the sky on her
(sorry, the ceiling)
the first words he spoke shattered her peace
May I Diane, offer you a kiss?
She fumbled to decide an aye or a nay
silence was all her voice could say
the apparition rose to grab the moment
reading in her muteness a loud consent.
Since then she is wondering if she can boast
of having been kissed by one now a ghost
or hide within her as an indelible shame
an indulgence that could earn her bad name.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 10:27 AM UTC
Using silence as the means
to express his dismay
he was going to make a statement
and say nothing all day
but his mother just assuming
he had nothing much to say
sent the silent revolutionary
back outside to play.
Outmaneuvered by his mom
and her total disregard
for his wild campaign of muteness
the rebellion fell apart
peaceful protest hadn't worked
he should have guessed right from the start
it makes no difference when you're quiet
if no-ones listening very hard.
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 4:27 PM UTC
Crippled creature broken in ballistic bone fracture about the blind tile,
freckled in blade licked flesh,
back strap shoulder blades quiver gaunt as skeleton wings
sprinkled in splashed satin fruitless reds and auburn oils,
the child’s insides splattered across the stomach of the floor,
limp muscle binding that of bundled circuitry,
the boy only resembling needle and sticks
a mass of anatomy straightened out in lifeless splendor,
bone splinters clotted in saw dust muscle grindings
the face showered in locks and tangles,
galaxies and embered suns,
tassels golden simmered,
the creature’s hair a mane torn over his black socket eyes,
fierce in ferocity growling,
a monstrous roaring of prideful bangs,
Fallow face and cheek stomped to the floor as a rag
his form splashed about ground and surface.
Skin nearly bleached in cancer cell white,
a body folded as parchment, joints and ligament playing the part
lightless strewn as an idea lost in lifeless.
A white room hollow, muteness staling,
the busting of a boy broken in scaffold limbs torn
intwined amongst netted nerves wound about spindled bone
branched out in checkered blood stain
Shattered arms resembling puzzle pieced wings,
boy bathed in synthetic sunlight kisses,
But a watch crushed in brittle bronze shards about God’s feet
Aug 30, 2011
Aug 30, 2011 at 12:44 AM UTC
The bells tolled in silent air, no mummers
Where uttered in haste as white cloth over
Black draped upon their figures.
On the desecrated reminisce of ash petals
That grow in this place each is picked with
Elegance so not to fracture there fragility.
A new one Is found to replace those that
Unveiled their voices on solemn oaths to words
Never to be uttered, they surrendered it t air.
Voices of blood echoed on the floor, a chastity
Forsaken and white cloth drank upon the wine
Till it had its fill, then voiced its intent in puddles.
The shaded leaf was gently dissected between fingers
And where lips blessed word, the ash sealed them with
The twine of dead embers, and they screamed silently.
Silken coverings where bestowed on the vacant realms
Of purities, in the convent of silence where the dead
Don't speak and muteness is a sound only heard.
Jan 21, 2016
Jan 21, 2016 at 4:58 PM UTC
*With Wings Of Mayhem Covered In September Dew,
She Flies Under The Autumn Sun On An Holiday Overdue,
Through Holographic Designs & Trumpeting Ecstasy,
She Transmutes Her Photographic Lusts Into Riveting Intimacy,
Lightning Visions In Her Empyrean Eyes,
Dreamscaping She Drifts Through Ethereal Skies,
Of Toxic Sanctums & Pulsating Screams,
She Titillates The Trance Up In Her ****** Schemes,
Myriad Stories Of Her Sonnets Divine,
Constructing Fluidic Reveries In Her Comic Design,
Like Chemical Dispersals Veiled In Her Digital Stains,
She Formulates Aphrodisiacal Elixir In Her Lyrical Rain,
Through Dimensional Shifts Of The Fractal Waves,
Her Cosmic Prophecies Actualize Into Sacramental Raves,
A Genomic Felony Concealed Inside Her Superficial Caves,
With Acoustic Muteness In Her Green Shaded Eyes,
As She Gleams Through The Millennial Skies,
In Melodious Echoes, She Whispers Of Arcane Lies.
- 05:28 AM*
May 30, 2017
May 30, 2017 at 8:18 PM UTC
dark bags reside,
under my forest green eyes.
the thunder is silent,
almost like a mute lion attempting to roar.
the shame is nonexistent,
and the beauty is awing.
-l.c.g.
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 2:45 AM UTC