I tell myself
You were a dream
Something imagined
Never real
As through the tangled
Web of lies
Meandering still
My thought denies.
The fading scent
Upon woumded air
An hour echoes
Moments stare
Shadowed doubt
Wears a mask
Its not ok
The silence shouts.
I tell myself
Try to believe
Better off alone
Memories grieve
Tomorrow just
Another day to seep
Through curtains gap
Very little sleep.
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Author:
nephilim56 ( Norman Dickson) (
Offline) - Published: August 23rd, 2026 03:11
- Comment from author about the poem: An old poem that I freshened up, hope it meets with your approval
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 43
- Users favorite of this poem: arqios, Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments5
There is a longing in this write and there is pain. Nicely written it begs for forgetfulness. Lovely
thanking you much appreciated as always
Always most welcome Norman
Worth the freshening up🙏🏻🕊️
many thanks my friend, much appreciated
There’s a damn haunted loneliness in this, where the speaker keeps trying to convince themselves that the relationship was never real while every memory argues otherwise. “The silence shouts” is the line that really sticks—it captures how absence can become louder than anything that was ever said.
Most kind comments, always much appreciated, many thanks friend
Good write N. Yes, you tell yourself that bus will turn up soon. Does it heck! lol.
you cant trust buses lol
Such a haunting write, Norman. Denial offers no real refuge here; absence continues to occupy the mind and disturb every attempt at peace. Excellent work, my friend! 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
thanking you always much appreciated friend
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