All the pain and the trauma are like scars on my heart.
To forgive and forget, it will tear me apart.
All the pain that was hidden, and the hurt we went through.
You never cared about us, it was all about you!
The mind games that you played, you controlled like a freak.
A manipulation of power, just proves you are weak!
Those bruises were real, and secrets were kept.
Not a care in the world for the lives you have wrecked.
I understand now, it was all about control,
And the misery and suffering has stolen her soul.
All the silence was torture, full of pain and distress.
Now she struggle's with thoughts that she tries to process.
The psychological trauma, with your games so unkind.
A puppeteer with a grip on the strings of her mind.
In power, you thrive as she crumbles away.
Your silence it deafens with these games that you play.
I'm no longer a pawn. I reclaim every word.
In the verity of healing, a voice, needs to be heard.
Though trauma may linger, these shadows will part.
I'll weave hope from the truth that you stole from my heart.
Silence
Beauty unsurpassed by vision, holds me spellbound and enraptured.
Silence
Full of mystery, aloof, yet silence where the answers lie;
The sweetest music does not invade its eloquence.
It dances on the senses and deafens those who will not hear its beauty.
she has the wrath of a god but the mind of a human
the steel grip of an eagle, but she’s painfully weak
i shake like a leaf
since whatever she’s doing
makes me scared to the bone, i can’t even speak
whenever she screams, the silence that follows
deafens me more than her voice
don’t prick your finger, thread in a needle
none of us are here by choice
her stare burns my skin; it’s shabby and marred
the scars on my knees are surgically placed
i’ll keep it together
my face stays unscarred
but i look like my father; she says it’s a waste
Where are your voices, Me-too, Planned Parenthood, NOW
your Jewish sisters violated, raped by the dozens - How
come you've gone quiet,
your silence deafens ...
Those Jewish sisters supported you during hard times
contributed big bucks, marched with you to protest crimes ...
Now, your covert antisemitism ~
your future credibility threatens
Where is the voice
that once spoke here
in this ancient amphitheater
of weathered rock. Now, there is
only the wind muttering prayers
along the wall, nothing
more than the sound
of absence being squeezed
through stoney lips.
The gods are silent,
entombed between the pages
of books or paralyzed in marble
to grace the halls of history.
This is the age of the ventriloquist,
manipulator of the image
that gives animation and succor
to the need for talking gods.
We are not tuned to silence.
The noise of the self
deafens the soul
with its constant chatter.
Having torn down the temples,
we kick the dust of our endeavors
into a soundless void
as if trying to fill the infinite.
imagine all these things
stretch the mind to infinity
imagine this stark beauty
imagine
imagine
imagine
silence so intense
that the flap of a bird wing
crashes like thunder
and the dropping of a pin
reverbs and deafens
darkness so intense
that black shades to gray
in comparison
and a struck match
blinds with intensity
emptiness
so bleakly empty
that the concept defeats
and despair rolls in
so that one does not exist
imagine
imagine
imagine
imagine this stark beauty
imagine all these things
and the scene is set
watered-down
yet toxic
shadows shout
jarring notes
discordant
deafens soul
the witness
eternal
is immune
09-March-2023
Tricube
Ripples of pain weave circles round her
Memories sad and stark crucify her
Ugly and soiled scenes blur her vision
The whimper of aborted foetus deafens her
At night she encounters mindless phantoms
Vampires who come to suck her blood
Vultures circling to feed on her flesh raw
Tear her and hack her to shreds
Dribble spittle into her parched mouth
She seeks a shelter where she could fall asleep,
Breathing dark secrets into her crumpled pillow
When questions rise from all corners,
Putting her into a dreadful quandary,
She longs to hide in the remote corners of her self
And wash clean in her own tears,
Dousing the flame in their salinity
In a quickly darkening world,
She looks for a candle flame,
To make her ashen heart once more aflame.
When torn with the whiplash of life,
She longs for a balm to kiss away,
The sting of her reeking wounds.
From the throes of pain,
She resolves to walk into the calm-
Into the serenity of a day’s end,
Not to be a toy again
Fit for heartless rogues-
The circling vultures!
July.7. 2022
~ Placed First~
Pick-A-Title, Vol. 31 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
IT’S A BEE’S LIFE
I flit about from flower to flower,
Cross-pollinating, hour after hour.
All the plants rely on me.
They can’t make love like you and me.
Each day I cover many a hectare,
Collecting many a pint of nectar,
Before I return to the buzzing hive
With food to keep us all alive.
But the food is not just for ourselves.
It helps to fill the grocer’s shelves.
For half of what we bees produce
Is syphoned off for human use.
So spare a thought for us poor bees.
Imagine what our life’s like please.
Twenty thousand in one house,
Excuse me if I have a grouse.
No chance of quiet relaxation.
A constant buzz of conversation
Deafens us from dusk till dawn.
Sometimes I wish I’d not been born.
I yearn for a bit of peace and quiet
And even perhaps a change of diet.
So I’ve hatched a plan, a new ambition,
Departing from the bee’s tradition.
I’m saving hard, selling jars of honey
And when I’ve saved sufficient money,
The other bees will find I’ve flown
And bought a new hive of my own.
26th May 2022
Bee Creative poetry contest
Sponsor - Matt Calari
Celebration chaos
Deafens to silence
This heartache
Fallen from my hand
Still holds
Shadows of desired risk
Dance to me
Sky boy in dreams
Misfortune is the fruit of a twisted tree
An endless abyss deafens my forlorn plea
Silence feeds on the passing of days
Memories shine through my unending haze
Bittersweet tears drawn from eternal shame
The spoils of igniting a passionate flame
Embers singe the spirit of the night
A dulled gaze cannot break an all-seeing light
Ravenous consumption a moment too soon
Unfulfilled expectations for I am immune
Love born from an abstract heart
Failure distilled from an artificial art
Comfort resides in a fleeting thought
Pleasure’s wealth exists to be bought
Dejection and regret shall not enslave
Nothing commands the depths of my grave
When the sound of silence, wails
And sobs of crying deafens our fearful minds
Our streets are cold and empty
And there’s no one to be found
Only the shuffling of City workers
As they clean a ghostly town
Storms are silently raging
Uncertainties abound
My soul is contemplating
Disaster is all around
Eyes steering out at the invisible
Imagining faces they once knew
Smiles gaged to breathless
As death takes our point of view
A virus not only taking bodies
But our laughter and our joy
In dire need of a savior
We pull a vaccine from the clouds
Ending are here…
Everything is changing fast
Life is not the same
In this New World Order
Vaccination is not a game
If you don’t conform
In darkness, you’ll remain
Someone turned off the sun
And left us in the rain
Storms are silently raging
Uncertainties abound
My soul is contemplating…
The misery life’s become
Everything is changing
Nothing is the same
May the forces protect you
In this viral age
Soundtrack by Ofshane
Written by Arturo Michael
The end
It breaks through the light
Awakening night
Falling soft against the earth
Reminding us all that death
Even comes to the sun
It colors the brilliant rays of colorful
Insights with melancholy
Despair and mourning
Grief that is black
As the stormy skies
It deafens the ear
Of one who listens for it’s
Laughter
Which you’ll never hear
For it is a silent reflection
It echoes through the mind
Reaching out in hues
Of lilac and cobalt
Coloring the atmosphere
With a gloomy hush
It is not lifeless as it seems
But protects the peace
With strong arms
Of melancholy and dread
For soon we will accompany it
In death… there is smoke
Whispering up toward the sun
Pressing in on the heart
With reminders
Of this finished love
These days are short, as I begin
to walk—my daily custom now—
toward the place where, after
treatment, you lie resting.
I dream each day of when
I'll come and take you home.
But then I hear my name,
whispered on the wind, and
words besides that simply say,
"Sundial. Five o'clock today.
A message waits for you."
And with this, the wind falls silent.
On langourous summer days we'd often
wander in the park until we came to
where that sentinel of silence stood and
watched, as minutes drifted by,
implacably, the gnomon's shadow gliding—
one polished marble marker to the next.
Well into season now, the
autumn air has chilled my face.
And westward, the ruddy sun's
disk settles, its destiny fulfilled.
I look down toward the dial just
as the shadow grows indistinct.
The mark etched there means
that five o'clock has just passed.
I pause awhile but then turn back
to where l had just come, for
in the silence there that deafens,
I know that you are gone.
Dedicated to those who have lost a loved one to the Covirus and disdain for those who don't seem to care; their number is legion.
The sun is a new
But these tears only brew
When my eyes finally clear
All I see is you near
The very sight of you
Brings me warmth of the noon
Inhabit my space
That I may receive your stilling grace
Love like the benevolent shears
Of a seaman's fishing spears
That hunt to catch
To feed, To resurrect
By the the power of your passion
That could hear a thousand foreign tunes
Prepare the feasts for it will be roaring
With all of our dancing feet
May we hold each other near
As this thunder deafens our ears
Bring only what you need
For my loneliness exceeds
The highest of mountains
And the deepest of fountains
For my love was ever stronger
Like that of a daughter
But nonetheless
I’ll let you rest
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