Precy Brozas Varilla
The Unspoken Gratitude - Poem by Precy Brozas Varilla
All the time...
She tells me I'm beautiful, I say I feel desolate and mirrors scream that I look awful.
She adores my eyes round as owls; I say they look at a kaleidoscope with a scowl.
She tells me I'm wonderful, I say I was born almost empty of beauty and grandeur.
With my little triumphs she delights, I say they're only fitted for tramps.
He tells me I'm full of wisdom, I say it won't bring me to any kingdom.
He gladdens with my obedience, I say I only don't want to make any offense.
He tells me I'm one in a million; I say I'm a forgotten soul within a flourishing nation.
With my humor he's funny bone tickles, I say my mind starts too fickle.
Most of the time..
They tell me I'm good a friend, I say like unto a chameleon I need to blend.
They envy my seemingly strong disposition, I say one more blow and I'll lose direction.
They tell me I can make a change, I say only heaven can intervene the world ablaze.
With my jolliness and radiance they laugh, I say someone inside me waits to be unmasked.
You tell me I'm a lady extraordinaire; I say I'm a girl with nothing to share.
You appreciate my selflessness; I say I crave for payments falling in cadences.
You tell me I'm a good daughter; I say I know not how to be better.
With warmth you offered your love, I say it can never sweetly fuse with my wrath.
At this moment...
I see her cry.
I wipe her tears but I fail as I try.
I hear him sob.
I reach for him but my hands channel no warmth.
I feel you're hurt.
I console you with all my might but no healing is ignited.
I think they're in deep grief.
I sing to them only realizing my voice's unheard; in the air my calls drift.
I see them as the cherry blossoms flutter then silently kissed the ground.
I hear them as a flute from an unknown distance start to sound.
I feel them as the late September breeze send shiver to my spine.
I think of them as the ivory-colored clouds and the horizon intertwine.
Time takes another tick.....
I look around; cage in sheer bewilderment is my soul.
Pounding is my heart, I scream but nobody heed my call.
Phantom tears start to erupt, and the hollow universe crumble.
When I suddenly realize...my existence has already taken its toll.
Comments about The Unspoken Gratitude by Precy Brozas Varilla
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You