E Poetry

My Deaf Ears

The fading memories of sounds,
That fade with my years.
So beautiful they were, I'd rather.
Rather use my hands to speak,
Or have none at all.

The hustle of a Saturday morning.
That, Honk! Honk! Or deafening tunes.
That I took for granted, these years.
I can feel them but not hear.
When the world around me wakes.

Oh how I'd trade my voice.
My stupid, cracking voice, too old.
Old enough to match your ancestors.
Id give my hands or feet,
To hear my old rocks again.

Because it hurts to see your grand ones playing,
Maybe Roses or other ring games,
But you can't listen to their silly voices,
And mock them in the spirit of youth.

What is it they said?
A deafening silence?
Yes! It was! It is...
My limbo of pain and longing.
I wish I could've saved them, my ears
That's my punishment, for listening to rock for years.

End.

Oie! Hi! I don't know why I wrote this... it just happened.