silence is not hearing what you long to hear.
and it is what it is, whatever the reason.
whether you can't hear it or no one will say it.
my life is noisy and full of silence.
desperate one-sided conversations.
mournful questions whispered to deaf ears.
i need a word.
i pray but i can't hear him.
how can a man know if he is deaf,
when he doesn't know what it is to hear?
i don't know what it is to hear him.
and because i do not hear him,
i crave other voices to speak the word.
but they don't.
or they can't.
or i can't hear them either.
i am trapped in skin and neurons.
pounding at the walls.
begging to be set free.
or have some company.
Jesus, are you in here?
please speak, i'm trying to hear you.


the old scars quiver and burn tonight.
at a touch they remember.
they remember all i try to forget.
i could shelter and cradle and guard these old wounds.
protect myself from the pain of memory.
but the effort would cripple me.
and never let me use these limbs.
the muscles would atrophy.
the bones would weaken.
the pain would be less.
but the injury far greater.
yet if i use these limbs.
and risk the pain.
the scars may in time fade.
but tonight,
they won't let me forget.