Unspoken
Marshaling all that is within me,
Of things that speak but cannot see.
Those things that many judge me by,
As days become years making me sigh.
With mortar in hand, bricks to be laid,
Shadows within my mind are those seen today.
Building first one memory then another,
Hoping to understand, some sanity to recover.
Shallow meanings are woven within and without,
Mere words without meaning casting doubt.
What manner of conversation holds this sway,
Of yesterday’s lies, deceit, and decay.
Better to have been smitten early with truth,
Then trudge hopelessly toward graying and mute.
Alas, through suffering, tears slaughtered,
My soul’s final vision is of freedom offered.
‘Tis with quivering lips and silenced tongue,
The tale became venom’s stinger that stung.
Of a life that might’ve been less one,
Causing dreams to wilt, die, and remain unsung.
About the Creator
Dan R Fowler
Dan R. Fowler. 71, writing is more than a hobby, it's a place for me to become anyone I choose to be, visit mystical scenes, or swim deep within my brain. e-book paperback, or audible. type dan r fowler on the search line. Amazon
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Each day she watched through her window. Watched? Perhaps an exaggeration: a monochromatic nuclear aftermath remaining of the world, blurring into a blindness--loss of contrast and depth of field. Achromatic aberrations displayed a waste-scape stratified in grays.
By Gerard DiLeo2 days ago in Fiction
Comments (2)
nice use of words. Well done
"The tale became venom’s stinger that stung" - nice.