The bane to my existence

I dread this ever present void of

Silence.

Increasingly quiet past each event of non physical violence.

 

Things once vibrant and inspiring, now exceedingly dull

Like the rusted green woman who offered liberty as intent.

 

Why not let me paint a new face?...

 

 One they they don't know, so we can speak like before, past the time when hours grew late.

 

One to reveal that I can feel brave despite my many numerable and viewable mistakes.

 

One unmarred by disgrace and uneasy to taint.

 

Though if I'm to continue to lose my voice to this deafening silence, due to my inability to swim still waters to distant islands.

 I hope at least, once to have spoken strong and with reverence to leave an echo large enough to prove the existence of my presence.