There's only two answers to my question,
never spoken by any.
I've seen them try;
the words barely hitting sense into them.
I wish they would see
how I've never left
the pain,
the cries,
the angst;
it's all too real.
They'd never find
a key to open,
to t
u
r
n,
to t
w
i
s
t
the lock on the chest
where all answers remain,
dusty and abandoned.
Only two,
yet they've been blinded
by selfish desires
like myself.
I refuse to see them
drowning in unnecessary lies of life;
beautiful lies,
in which I have disappeared into
long, long ago.
They've f
a
l
l
e
n,
and I was too late
to hear
their answers.
My question remains
wilting,
dying,
withering.
With two answers hanging,
b u z z i n g
losing its nectar,
for a question needs answers—
but the two drifted with the wind
left
undiscovered.
YOU ARE READING
The Silence of My World
PoetryA collection of poems conjured by an amateur writer. A compilation that reflects the writer's thoughts, muses, feelings, and some was spun fictionally. A miscellany of randomness, with a deep meaning, or just a vent poured out of a pained and tortur...
