The noise calls me to abandon my essence,
to raise once more the throne of the ordinary.
The rabble prepares to overthrow my rule,
to replace the sublime with the everyday.
Whispers breed in corners,
those filthy tongues—the devil speaks through them.
Their words are bloody spears;
their sentences, the poisons of witches.
The air is torn apart,
its chaos born not of dreams but of vice.
Violence stains every edge,
and the prophet is beaten by the mob.
A cry from the left,
a howl from the right.
Betrayal at my back,
barriers before my face.
They think they have overtaken me.
Yet from foot to crown,
from earth to sky,
silence is the loudest.
I see the clingy ones, and who is not glue?
Those intoxicated by others, everywhere.
How comfortable they are
in their little cages, far from the abyssal stare.
Thought wounds them.
They seek escape from pain,
and so they refuse to think.
For they cannot hear; their ears are muffled.
Indeed, they cannot even manage to suffer.
From their hands comes only distortion,
for it is the only thing they know.
They would blind what sees; they would leave those who hear deaf.
But I would rather tear out my eyes
than bind them shut,
and from that wound
I would open another sight within me.
And through it, I would listen to the echo of banishment.
The walls of this house,
the wires of this dungeon,
lean inward like scribbles pretending to be verdicts,
pressing against my spirit,
suffocating my vision,
hungry for my breath,
for they do not breathe on their own.
Their designs are naked,
their plans laid bare.
I know who they are,
and who they want me to become.
They are failures
who perish before their own becoming.
How pitiful they are,
assaulting my ears in desperation,
yet I hear with my heart.
How can they silence this ancient melody?
I shut my mouth
and hide the treasure within me.
Will they take me,
along with all my fortune?
I renounce their authority
and remain the sole ruler of myself.
Will they claim what is mine,
to steal me from myself once more?
But I am an eternal fugitive;
the music within me is my scripture.
My silence is beyond noise;
it is the sharpest voice.
For from the depths of my inner world
to the farthest edge of the universe,
silence is the loudest.
― Atrona Grizel