A pinch of pain,
I guess that's what it was—
a sting from words not spoken.
Funny,
how the lack of response
turns out to hurt more
then any written
or verbal stab of honesty.
For it's the unknown,
the presuming factor—
taking hold, wrapping around
and strangling a mind
already questioning itself.
A concrete answer,
too much to ask I suppose.
One shouldn't have the need
to be showered with enlightenment,
the knowledge already dwells within.
Yet,
it sure would have
lessened the sting,
that small pinch to the heart—
if that one word answer
would have been uttered.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem