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Lyn Defelice Jan 22
Speechless, ignored, could
You even miss me at all
If I fell away?

If I drowned like my
Words that everyone doubted
And learned to neglect?

A silent heartbeat,
With the silence you put to
Everything I say?

I wish a friend would
Like my company, I just
Haven't found one yet-
I'm quiet. I'm talked over a lot.
Priyanka Jul 25
silence,
what is it, if not
the absence of sound,
of music, and words
that could have been said
but were not

deafening
unlike the dreary sound
of the creaky fan
that does not talk
or yell, or reason
but whirrs

distance
despite the proximity
like the uneasy presence
of a spider crawling
on your bed, so close
it almost wriggles
on your skin

giddiness
the feeling that
love was to be
and now has turned
into anxious longing
like too much caffeine
causing insomnia

ignorance
is it not perfect
but we know so much
yet so little, with
so much to speak
yet the silence
within and without.
Dead Rose One Aug 2017
consciously, willfully, I wish it

quietly the Sunday, the sun day, drifts toward,
in its natural game, set, overmatched,
the foregone conclusion, nightfall diminishment

the water songfully swishes,
as the tide departs for places unknown, this then, now
the only natural authorized aural apparition,
the power boats renounce their normal noisy conditioning,
honoring their silenced, under-sail brethren,
as well as admitting their noises disfigure
the fast approaching majesty of the end of
our summer seasoning of humanity

consciously, willfully, I wish it

once again, lush is the quietude,^
now given up, surrendered and surceased to wonder,
how come I to write of these moments so oft,
thenever-ending quest to re-inscribe it on my sensibilities,
in vainglorious hopes that this stamping will last, be the last,
see me through the turgid frigidity of my Lucifer life,
come the fall, the winter, the early dark,
the daylight's brevity, the hurricane season of the mind,
that...need I say more?

consciously, willfully, I wish it

the particular white cloud formation of the moment at hand,
shall stay in place,  be the capstone of my summer living vision,
become permanent part and parcel
of the sclera, the white of my eyes, and when
I will write, soon enough,
my vision white weeping clouded,
you will weep knowingly, sympathetically

consciously, willfully,
I wish for that as well*

8/27/17
6:35pm
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