As for the talking,
if I wanted something said,
it would be here.
These lines exist as they do for the falling,
for the unrevealed hurt,
for God to cry and angels fear
at my corruption,
at my shaking,
at my curse.
I need time to get away,
but present demons love me worse,
and figure ways to pose as muses.
They point to where my secrets wither.
They bruise the heights and stir the lows
with longing songs that ever crave to scream:
Let me come back!
No voice is greater than this.
What happened to the blasted silence?
No one should believe I'm real.
I disclaim myself for persona,
or I'd be bawling.
The poem is over,
I used to feel.
But now who knows?
What happened to the blasted silence? ? ? Indeed! This is no place to look for silence my friend...there are voices in here...some gently whisper, some rage...and some...some just sooth the soul... Be not afraid...but make no mistake...there are voices in here! ! Hugs, Dee
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Dee just recommended you to me and I'm glad she did. You have skill and you moved me. Respect. Truly. Ez.