My Thoughts In Poetry

The Start

The two of us walk side by side every day.

The scenery passes us, the same scenery of yesterday.

The cars whiz past, the birds are faintly heard, the chatter of people, the opening bells of store doors.

All is heard but silence remains between the two of us.

Walking silently to the place where we will split into two groups. Our weights, called backpacks, carried on our shoulders. A binder in my hands, held to my chest.

Our feet crunching leaves and gravel beneath our feet. So many words swirl in my head in the language that you speak.

¿Como estas? How are you?

¿Como fue tu dia? How was your day?

So many words I could say to you, but the fear of that one worded answer being your response makes me keep those words back.

Bien. Or the occasional, bueno. Both meaning okay, fine, good.

For any question, that is my answer, one word.

Day after day, I created this theory. A wall.

This magestic wall, the wall is glass, too thick to penetrate. The glass dirtied when she was heartbroken, scarred, lost. This wall became her way of blocking people, her way of protecting her heart.

This wall makes the silence unbearable, too thick for me to even get closer to her. This wall is beautiful, it shields her in such a way, surrounding her in a bubble of heartache.

Oh, how I long to intrude it, to break a piece of this wall, to talk to the girl not much older than myself.

As the days pass, I fear the wall has surrounded myself too. The beautiful wall, the wall of magestic wonders. I feel it closing in around me, and the sounds are no longer heard. The words of my mother ring in my mind, this wall repeatedly chanting them.

Our silence remains, the wall not seeming to bother her as it does me. My desperate attempts to break this wall do not work, I'd like to be free, to not suffer behind the silence of this wall.

But maybe to penetrate this unbreakable wall, the wall that surrounds her broken heart, I'll have to say "hello", as maybe, just maybe, a start.

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If you're curious as to the meaning behind this poem, message me.

Rosa Vazquez.