The noise fills me—
like the swell of an orchestral crescendo,
grand, unapologetic,
punishing in its violent nature.
The world stays still
while I spiral,
drowning quietly beneath the surface,
welcoming the murky water
as it creeps into my lungs—
not with panic,
but with a tired kind of acceptance.
Night comes again,
and still,
closing my eyes
cannot shield me
from the onslaught.
It echoes through bone and blood,
through the hollowed caverns of memory
where your voice used to live.
And the words—
those cursed words—
long stuck in my throat,
scratch and claw
like caged wolves,
desperate for the freedom
that only speaking them aloud
could ever offer.
But I remain silent.
And the silence roars.
-
Author:
Jonathan Merida (
Offline) - Published: April 21st, 2025 17:13
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 15
- Users favorite of this poem: Cheeky Missy
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Comments2
Enigmatic and mysterious this poem rocks with power. Lovely
This poem slowly builds into a flow, the movement and inner rhythm make it almost melodic. For me it reminded of a description of a sunset.
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