Written by Drew Lewis
The laughter ricochets like coins on tile,
But none are tossed my way.
I sit among the living noise,
a ghost in flesh and suede.
Eyes skim past like skipping stones,
no ripple where I stand.
My voice, a moth with velvet wings,
too soft to land a hand.
The air is thick with stories told,
with jokes that bloom then fade—
but mine stay pressed between my ribs,
like secrets never made.
I wear my quiet like a suit,
tailored, sharp, and neat.
It shields me from the jabs of joy,
the sting of warm defeat.
Yet in this hush, I find a pulse,
a rhythm all my own.
A song unsung, a breath unclaimed,
a silence carved from stone.
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Author:
Drew Lewis (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: November 19th, 2025 17:08
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 9
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments3
Lovely wording making use of great metaphors in this poem. Very nicely done in most poetic style a fave
Thank you.
You are most welcome
I love the title
Thank you.
I love this! The words easily turn to images in my mind as they are read. I have often felt the same. I like 'I wear my quiet like a suit,
tailored, sharp, and neat.' The metaphors are beautifully woven through the fabric of the poem. I am looking forward to reading more of your poetry.
Thank you
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