He walks in rooms that echo back
Not with voices, but with lack.
A chair, a coat, a half-poured glass
The kind of stillness that lasts.
No one asks if he’s okay,
They see the mask, then look away.
Strong, they say, like stone or steel
But never ask what stones might feel.
He learns to laugh in muted tones,
To carry weight that’s not his own.
A brother, father, friend, or ghost
Yet never quite know what matters most.
The nights are long, the silence is loud,
He blends into the faceless crowd.
Not broken, just a bit unheard and unseen
A man who dreams in between.
But still he hopes, and still he tries,
To find a truth behind the guise.
That maybe strength is not alone
But while reaching and being known.
-
Author:
DLewis88 (
Offline) - Published: August 25th, 2025 19:29
- Category: Sad
- Views: 11
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments1
Nicely rhymed but more its metaphors are well done. Very nice and a fave
Thank you.
You are most welcome
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.