Mark Matthews Poet Prose Poetry

Silencing Them

People think I'm crazy
doing what I'm doing,
but they don't' understand
what's going on.

Faces twist
   in the dark mist,
as thoughts
unparalleled to any
          I've had before
race around screaming.
All wanting to be heard
             at once
as they pound 
   on the inside
of my cranium,
not allowing me 
               to concentrate
on any particular one,
numbing my senses
and locking my jaw shut.

People just don't know
what it's like in here,
fighting for the ideas
          I've had
that are being strangled
by my thoughts. 
That is why
I do what I do.
Going where the music's loud
and the light flash
in spectrums of beauty,
it may not
silence my thoughts,
and I may never
resurrect my ideas,
but when I'm on the dance floor
I can't hear them,
they can't scream that loud,
and the feelings produced
       by the music
                 and the crowd
heal the dents in my skull
causing a temporary feeling
                of bliss
that makes this thing
       we call life
               more bearable.

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