I hold the quiet of old hands,
pressing against the grain of loss.
In the marrow of my stillness lies
a hunger that never found its root.
Between the scream and the silence,
I am the weight of untold names
buried beneath heavy earth, forgotten.
Words ferment in shadows, waiting release.
The olive tree bends but never breaks,
its truth growing thick in hushed seeds.
I am the amber pause of traffic lights,
the stutter between halt and reckoning.
How many breaths waste on swallowed words?
The world chokes on its own held voice,
but here silence is sharp, unsheathed,
a blade etched with old wounds, ripening.
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Author:
gray0328 (
Offline) - Published: September 17th, 2025 06:58
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 29
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments2
Deep meaning in this poem Gray things unsaid lie at the heart of this work. A lovely write that digs deep into the mind and memory of what could have been and what should have been said. Lovely a fave
Thanks Soren I always appreciate your feedback
My pleasure
This poem is deeply contemplative and it explores themes of silence, loss, and unspoken histories. Nicely written.
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