Monday, April 18, 2016

A Silent Song--A Poem

This is a poem I wrote a few years ago about the importance of talking about traumatic experiences, rather than remaining silent and letting things fester.
This isn't a pretty poem. I'm of the mind that poetry should equally be a raw bleeding wound that's as dark and gritty as it should be about the wind delicately kissing a flower--before it tears the flower apart petal by petal. Anyway, I'm going to go ahead and share the poem before I wind up writing another one.


A Silent Song

To vanquish all evils, of them they do not speak. 
Of that which brings pain: if they don’t speak, they don’t think.
But it’s the dragon they feed when they turn their cheek.

A male caller’s vile charm taken for mystique.
A spouse’s thoughtless actions while under the drink.
To vanquish these evils, of them they do not speak. 

Hatred turns inward; it’s her own death she will seek.
Distance grows icy; papers are signed in bloodied ink.
And it’s the dragon they feed when they turn their cheek.

A sitter’s misuse of trust and his strong physique.
A child’s box of breathless friends under the sink.
To vanquish these evils, of them they do not speak. 

Full grown, it’s the night she works to stop feeling a freak. 
The bodies are now human; he doesn’t mind the stink.
They always feed the dragon when they turn their cheek.

I speak out; my voice is swallowed by the crowd’s shriek. 
It’s only our own destruction that is on the brink. 
Cowering from evils is why they do not speak.
And the dragon will devour the silent—the weak. 


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(No flowers were harmed in the writing of this poem.)

( I have nothing against pretty, happy poems. Everything has its place.)