Silence speaks a language all its own.
The pull to part, weighted under
The burden of the unsaid, the veil
Others place meaning into, reading
Your wishes from your body,
Saying: "If you aren't angry,
You might want to tell your face that"
Or asking what is wrong when
Nothing is that you know, only
That the silence scares them so.
Even more than the words we
Can fill it with, with also cannot
Be unsaid; at least in silence we
Cannot come undone.
Maybe it was not only coincidence or chance that made me arrive here at your page. Well, it has to have more to it, after all, I saw the title of your blog just as I was logging in. And, I must confess, I never really click on the suggestions that they give there.
ReplyDeleteBut then, I arrived here and saw that the title of your first poetry was/is Silences. That's the plural of the name of my book. My book that is like a birth.
I liked it very much. I liked the way you described and when you talked about "If you aren't angry,
You might want to tell your face that".
I will come back more often to read some more.
:-P
Glad you liked it :)
ReplyDeleteI think I write prose better as well, all told (but doing a story a day would be REAL insanity ...). the part about 'telling your face that' is based on something someone said to be a good six or seven years ago.