Below their surface, in realms unheard
By those whose sanity is prized,
Is a place where tired misery resides,
And the sound of silence whispers in swishes;
And then falls to die in wishes;
Then sink, in anonymity, to be lost;
Far from the rhythms and rhymes of Robert Frost…..
But as no song can last forever without our dreams;
And no lyrics are found in life’s metaphors but in our schemes;
This silence can not survive for long beyond our screams.
Soon the silent swishers of whisper's hum
Begin to tire of their monotonous forum,
And gather to raise their volume to a poetic norm.
From the depressed valley of loneliness’ tears,
Hearts of hope carry away our years
Of sorrow, to be spoken of nevermore;
As The Raven flies from knocking the desolate door,
To join the Ravyn, whose love was painfully earned,
Where she speaks of lessons needed to be learned
By those, beyond this land of pleas and needs,
Where ignorance saturates the blood they bleed.