The deafening noise of the sea,
A glee yet melancholy.
Like the false friend with a false smile,
Victimizing the chosen juvenile.
Pulling the strings, unknown, in dark,
The blaring silence, paramount guile, paramount vile.
The night black knocks on your door,
So do phantoms drowned in the core.
As tears of past shroud your eyes,
The silences arrive as the lone wolf cries.
Like the void poem on a poet’s mind,
The exit you could never leave behind,
The words that could but be spoken,
The shrieks, the lies that left you broken,
The silence shall not heal, your wounds, your ordeal.
Unspoken for, but speaks within every man,
Unadorned but still embellished,
As ear-splitting as thunder can.
It’s a hidden art, concealed behind a wrath, a rage,
Else a disgrace, guilt, your morbid dread on stage.
It’s a truthful deceiver in a tranquil presence.
How shall you then, ahead of your last breath, your death,
Shall know how loud is the noise of silence, the very noise
of silence.
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