His thoughts are what ail me
The not knowing then the assumptions
they all leave me frail
Unasnwered questions
hanging in the balance
I sit here and stare at him
as if I'm trying to read his thoughts
I sit here and glare at him
waiting to hear him speak
Speak what he thinks and tell me what he means
Scream from the roof tops
Proclaiming his guilt
Explain to me why he did this filth
I want hear his thoughts and deduce why he'd do what he did
and why to me
Perhaps then I'll be less distraught
If i know his reasons and his thoughts
I wish to know his every thought
Why he does each thing
And thinks each thought
Perhaps then I'll be less distraught
If I know his reasons and his thoughts
There's just one thought that may not make me less distraught what if his reason for hurting me is not at all what I thought
Am i prepared to hear the driving froce
behind the hatred that's taken its course
To hear the reasons
from the lips of evil
it may be a lot more painful
than I've ever thought
I can totally relate to this! I've been on this side before and I think you captured what it feels like brilliantly. Distraught, frustration, uncertainty, and fear that maybe once you have an answer you won't like what it is, making things even worse. I really love your poem because it talks about something that doesn't just go away. It's there while it's happening, in the aftermath, in years later, it might not ever be answered. The question, 'Why? ' The question that you are burning to have answered, but that you think might be better off not known. And even if you were told the answer you might not believe it. I know I didn't, not the one I got. I dismissed it as a lie because the reason I got wasn't even close to being valid. I would rather keep my assumptions. But the question will always be there in the back of mind, 'What were they thinking? ' Why did they do it? Sorry I sort of ranted, but I just love how your poem gets the gears in my head turning. I don't even know what adjectives to put to it, it's so...it's the best poem I've read in a long time. This is why I love the written word because with only 26 letters arranged however you wanted them, you were able to make me think, to make me feel. You were able to influence me with only letters. That is why writing was invented.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
what alovely poem well executed well wrote thums up