Mute Poems - Poems about Mute

does no one hear me are my words merely empty space does no one speak my language am i just a stranger in a crowd alone in this sea of bodies that perpetually pass me by ...

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Today, March 8th is International Women’s Day. After centuries of relentless struggle, are women happier today…? Can’t say! Despite all claims to equality and progress, women are still at the back seat struggling to balance between her work and domestic chores. Alarmingly assaults on women have skyrocketed in our land than never before, especially in...

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In the abyss of gazes, where silence screams mute and deep, The chasm stares back, a vortex gathering abstract emotions, I offer it my fears, aspirations, and unspoken truths, It swallows them all, leaving an unyielding void in my chest. There exists a lexicon of despair, with sharp, cutting phonemes, With discordant cadence, yet solace in graceful harmonies, An elegy reminding...

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When the heart breaks like a stone, sometimes we lose our words just like a pre-civilization mute and we cry and moan, in hurt, in anger, and in deepest of pain, and then we regain the words, as we put the pieces of our heart back together, put on the mask and start to act again. (11.28.2024) ...

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When love is too loud, and lurid, it languishes in lewd, lusty lakes. When love is silent, and steadfast, it sings sweetly with soft waves on sea shores. When love is motionless and mute, it meanders to black mold and makes miserable, monotonous marshes. So let me love thee silently, softly, with actions, with adjectives and valiant verbs....

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A mute vow, ancient as time itself, that spans between us, Is a smile knotted in a veil of unheard kisses, A respite in the symphony of love, where we, masters of the secret notes, Bring to life a melody written by fates, on a silent score, A quartet interlaced with threads of soul under the dome forever named...

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to capture the true essence of what lies behind my eyes create a palette of black pastels portraying the shadow that follows like death a constant visitor to my d o o r nobody knows the story of my heart an artificial anecdote of a l l i t e r a t i v e ...

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Bluebells in the shady woods, tubular throats sing the silence. Only empty bells ring....

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(Author’s note: This poem is a humorous look at how the pandemic changed our technology, our relationships, and maybe even our spiritual quests.) God’s on Mute By Mark D. Stucky We forgot how to talk during the pandemic. Glitches often bedeviled us, and we erratically conversed. Technology was cursed but also godsent. We had to learn new words and new meanings of words when Zoom burst...

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Trapped in between the lyric and music Wandering in a rhythm of lost expectation Blaming each note still unplayed and unwritten The echoes distend in a moment’s undoing Hearing a chorus when no choir is present Voices imagined to sing my sequester Wandering aimless through scores of abandon Harmony denied me —nightmarish and deafening (Dreamsleep: May, 2023)...

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Every six turns of the moon A journey to the girl I take. I leave behind my safe cocoon Into the noise and into the fake. The pungent smell of multicolours Punching nose and mind alike. I sit and pause in splendid parlours Waiting for the joy to strike. And strike it does, oh glory be. Electric sparks and lowing moans. At last she uses...

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for clarity, you may want to read the footnotes the mute swan's song has an ambiance where motion moves naught it hovers in an existence where time becomes meaningless lighting is aloof, a halo shining down the white bed becomes a herald of angels ready to move as the song fades into Empyreal Heights never to return lights dance in the mind racing from red...

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Loud TV ads drive me insane! They're drilling right into my brain! But, hey! This is cute; There's a button called Mute! -Do you get it or shall I explain?...

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& death swallowed my grandmother when i was twelve. there are some memories that hunt you while asleep & some spill goosebumps on the fabric of your skin. i lost count of the nights i pour tears out my eyes, there were days i keep my fingers steady in the family gallery. i listened to your voice breaking through...

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She was sitting alone immersed in a book, far away from her surrounding, her eyes somewhere else, somewhere inside. Deep in thought, beautiful abandoned. I had a blind date and we were a mismatch, impassable differences. We left quickly and then I came back, happy to see she was still there. In her was everything I wanted in a woman, her body language...

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