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Best Poems Written by Maggie Thorne

Below are the all-time best Maggie Thorne poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Silenced

Silence noun meaning a complete absence of sound or the avoidance of mentioning or discussing something.
The verb past tense definition is to cause to become silent; prohibit or prevent from speaking.
It is amazing how seven maybe eight letters that are put together can be so powerful and with so many definitions behind it. It’s all most a never ending change and we will never know if it will stop and when it may.
This nation started with our immigrants silencing the Native Americans, the ones already here. To eventually take over the lands because they crave power, money, and food. Then centuries later they have figured out how to silence the only people that could possibly get it to stop or maybe even change it. But, getting every American to realize we all need to stand up together and to realize what is truly going on we need to do something together.
How are they silencing us? Well what device is close to you at the moment? The cell phone and that is the number one way and the other one involves a great big black box in the living room providing none stop entertainment. We are driven for more money more expensive things and power we have the less free time or anytime for play per-say. Guess what, that is what they want they want to silence us and we are allowing it.
They are silencing us and in turn we are silencing ourselves from seeing the truth, the ones around us, and ultimately we will lose who we are. Then we will have zombies walking around staring at a box in their hand. With silence all around us and the us not seeing it is the worst part of it. Until we wake up and see what is going on this will only get worse.

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Wonder

I wonder why about so many things. Then I start to wonder why I wonder so much? 
I wonder why there are so many kids out there not being taken of, taken and being abused.
I wonder when it become ok to put kids in prison and if the people that do have a heart at all. 
I wonder why so many kids are not getting the proper education and getting bullied in school. 
I wonder why so many teens are having baby's? 
I wonder how teens and kids get addicted to alcohol and drugs? 
I wonder why the divorce rate is high?
I wonder why gays and lesbians can't get marriad, they are people that love also.
I wonder why adoption is so expensive for people that would be excellent parents. 
I am going to end this and go wonder somewhere else.

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Repetitive Behavior

How do we help the next generation? 
How can we help them when we are not even sure how we can help ourselves? 
 How can we come together as one when this country is more divided than ever?
  How can we get everyone to realize that violence isn't the answer and there is more to life? 
How do we help them realize if one person does something bad or evil to them it wasn't everyone that had done it, it was only that one person?
  How can we get them to realize their actions have a larger impact than they can see? 
  Why are we trying to get our future generations to realize all of these things and more when they have learned it from us and we are still doing these things and more that we are telling them not to do. Until we change our actions and behaviors nothing will ever change.

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Illusions

What is the problem with the people of this world? What is wrong with the kids of the world? Who do we blame for all the violence and corporation in this world? 
   I do know that we can’t blame just one person this would have to be a group issue. A group issue that only a group can fix. 
   We are seeing kids that think that it is normal for them to sit and their elders stand, thieving from others, hitting and fighting with everyone with them is become a norm. 
   The adults are now only thinking what is in it for me when asked to do something. They would rather pick the highest paying job so they don’t have to be there for very long out of the day and in turn becoming more depressed from going to a job everyday they dislike. 
  Instead of picking up a book or starting a conversation with anyone can’t be done without some type electronic device in their hand first. It is becoming a norm for most to share secretes via text messages. 
  Where or when did we all go wrong? Is there a fix to any of this at all? 
  I miss the days that no one asks “what is in it for me” when we see kids playing outside until the street lights come back on, when video games and computers were only in the homes of the wealthy.  When we wanted to know something we would ask the other person face to face and not via text. 
 I am starting to believe that maybe that is an illusion that I will never see again.

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Whispers

A small cold room. An isolated cold room filled with nothing but whispers. 
   The whispers that only let you hear and understand them at the most inappropriate times. The times where I feel just as cold as the room I am standing in.  
   They feed off my hurt, and my tears. As long as those thoughts feed me, I’ll reluctantly continue to feed them. 
    I try to leave. I crave to leave, and yet every time I grow weaker. The weaker I am, the less I fight, and the more the whispers eat and grow stronger. 
   Will I ever get away and be warm in a large world? Or will I become just a cold, small whisper, alone in this room.

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Blinded By Love

I didn’t look for you. I wasn’t looking for a new friend and I definitely wasn’t looking for love. 
      Love hurt deep it also took every breath I had and my energy along with it. 
      I don’t find myself beautiful. I find myself a  that has used one too many people in my life. While others have used me as a doormat to get what they want. 
       I wasn’t looking for you then. I had a child within me while merely being a child myself. I didn’t think I deserved what love had to offer. 
        Your eyes I got lost in and in your arms I found my home. You showed me I am worth love. 
       You’re my best friend, my home, and together we have made a home with a welcome mat outside the front door. 
   I wasn’t looking for you. I wasn’t looking for a friend but they found me with you. 
   If you ever get lost without me I promise to look for you until I find the eyes I get lost in and the arms I call my home.

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Speak

I site here night after night yearning to speak. My mouth burning from everything I want to say yet when I open my mouth dust comes out. I close my mouth only to feel the burning again I open praying the flames would realize only to feel the dust on my lips. 
   How can this burning to speak come on so strong for nothing to come out of it? The only thing to come from it is the occasional "I am fine" the ya's and ok's to move along the conversation so the other person thinks  I am listening to them. 
   Is it because I am surrounded by selfish stories about trivial things and every time I bring up my story if turns to dust on my lips like the burning to speak.

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Mist

The are times when I just want to matter to someone.....anyone. 
 There are days when I wonder if there is anyone out there who wants to talk to me as much as I would like to talk to them. 
I wonder if somwone misses me as much as I miss them. 
I wonder if it's only I walking thru this endless gray cloud alone. 
I wonder if anyone will see me thru  this heavy gray mist or if I'll disappear within it. 
To be ever alone missing ones that don't miss me not to talk to anyone but they wouldn't notice anyways. 
This endless heavy gray mist is eating me alive. I used to ask if any one will save me, now I am left to wonder does anyone even  care enough to see me.

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Walls

If walls could talk with everything they could share and the lives they could potently ruin. Walls hear everything that people don’t hear. The laughter with friends and family and all the inside jokes they know. Walls have heard all the reasons behind every tear even if they aren’t spoken.
When we speak we don’t think about the walls hearing everything we say and the repercussions that it could lead if your words were to be heard by anyone else. We don’t think of who we could hurt if our words would hit their ears. The hours of everyone talking to themselves because the walls are the only thing around that is uncountable.
The walls aren’t the only things that know things that no one wants them to know and some they do. The floors also know who has been walking on them that aren’t even supposed to be there no matter how light or heavy the footsteps are. Floors also know every time someone has tiptoed across it sneaking in way past curfew. They have felt every ounce of someone’s weight when they fall no matter the reason. They have soaked up every spill not cleaned up, felt every tear no matter how cold and endured weather, normal wear and tear and the feeling of being rebuilt. The floors have opened up to hidden treasures and have hidden secretes.
Beneath the floor and underneath the walls is the one area that holds all the deep dark secrets the ones most don’t want to talk about and doesn’t want anyone to know. It is most generally the darkest room of the house and the most mysteries. The basement and it is kind of like someone’s soul. The only light that may enter is when it is let in but otherwise it is dark and no two are every the same.
Walls, floors, and the basement can hear what you don’t want them to hear, they feel what you don’t think they can, and they also see everything including the things that you don’t want them too. They see all the joy and all the pain that comes from living and even knows the secretes that will be kept before anyone else.

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Illusion

Having depression puts you in a place where you feel numb, empty and cold while it's dark 24-7. 
Having anxiety is like having someone in your ear reminding you that you are not good enough while you worry about everything that makes you so nervous no one wants to be around you. 
Being a recovering drug addict is  more than a daily battle an more like the all day every day battle. A craving for your drug your friend but it is truly only an illusion. Wanting it so bad you could claw your arms open while you screamed. 
When you have depression, anxiety, and you are a recovering drug addict it is like being in a completely dark room with voices reminding  you of every wrong you ever done to make you remember your not good enough and screaming till you don't have a voice because your carving an illusion.