Poetry: The Quiet House!
Welcome to the house of a story
A story whose birth bore a country
A country whose child it miscarried
Miscarried on its mother’s back into midnight
Into midnight, they found a name for the dead
The dead that died for the pleasure of mourning
Mourning is a sickness that visits at midnight
At midnight, the story comes to an end.
An end with a forgotten start,
Where dying is the ungrateful part.
In the four corners of these quiet walls
Quiet walls with a loud silence
Loud silence occupied with no rent
Rent being paid for
Paid for the ground its legs stand.
Legs stand before my quiet moment
Moment that feeds my deep thoughts
Deep thoughts with crowded ideas
Crowded ideas to avoid curiosity
And speak less under ferocity
Silence is like golden air
Golden air is like quick silver
Quick silver can’t be clenched in a fist
Fist full of tears
Of tears from a spiral crash
Spiral crash of an upward dash
Dash of salt in a bowl for friendship
For friendship that seemed forever old
Forever old is going forever cold
But gold will be forever gold
I don’t seek for more but a ray
A ray of hope far from here
From here is closer to me
Me from whom these walls got bonded
Got bonded with clouded quietness
Clouded quietness is quite noisy
Quite noisy is quitely loud
Quitely loud is rudely disgusting
Disgusting is this muted place
Only the tune of laughter can replace.
The white Roses sent a silent message
Silent message in the dead of the night
The night had demons and bones; souls in souls
Souls were festooning when they saw a flash
A flash of lives, a flash of sin like greed
Like greed? Their cymbals went quiet,imperfect lives
Lives singing freedom in the box that caged their lots
Their lots were cast upon swines, now they mourn
They mourn the lyrics that sang them a song
A quiet house was their steady belong.
No matter how wrong your set theory, don’t worry.
Don’t worry. Let your whisper not dare bleed.
Dare bleed out not sorry stories
Stories that the head should not echo.
Not echo so loud.
So loud to confuse this mused chatter.
Chatter like empty boxes.
Empty boxes spilling truth in action.
In action like trigonometry
breaking down like geometry