Emptiness
when you enter your room
and you hear the sound of your steps
on the carpet, as you close the door
and the sound of the snowy silence
is sealed,
you begin to think why,
when will this last? oh, this cannot
be forever, i know, you keep
on telling yourself
this is temporary
this is the need of my life
there is an exit somewhere
you wait, this is the hope
there is this distance between
this and that
it is not that really far away
from each other
the nearness soothes and heals
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
In Silence
In silence, you can hear
the scratching of a pen across paper.
In silence, you can hear
the rhythmic sound
of your heart beating
telling you you are alive.
In silence, you can hear
the screech of a demon call.
In silence, you can hear
the murmur of a baby
just moments before
they begin to awake.
In silence, you can hear
your memories calling.
In silence, you are transported
back in your life
into days long gone by
under sun-drenched skies.
In silence, you can hear
your voice of loneliness.
In silence, you are there
within the confines
of your inner self
and forever alone in silence.
11 May 2012
poem by David Harris
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Silence Is...
Silence is an absence
Silence is profound
Silence is a conversation
Being had without sound
Silence is an expression
One that cannot be heard
Silence cannot be spoken
Although it is a word
Silence is a presence
Of great nothingness
Silence can be something
And yet cease to exist
Silence can fill a room
And have no mass at all
Silence cannot be dropped, yet it can fall
Silence is a mystery
That will forever go unsolved
Silence is how every sound can swiftly be dissolved
Silence is the sound of rest
The only sound that can sound best
While other sounds can cause great pain
Silence is not the sound to blame
For Silence is what silence is
Something that is nothing
Nothing that exists
poem by Kyle.J Carruthers
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the sounds of Sunday
i hear the sound of the cold wind from the sea
i hear the waking call of the roosters
the scratching feet of the dog on some disturbing flea
and i hear her steps towards the door as she opens it
she goes to church
and i hear her gently closing the door and the gate too
closing in on me
i am alone now with all the other sounds of the house
this sound of the growing silence
some voices
rushing to fill my mind
some poems
for the day
it is this silence that feeds me
the trickles of my soul
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Allegory Of The Cycle Of Doors
and so there is this door that appears before you
and you open it
and then when you enter the room
another door appears
this is the cycle of doors that keep on appearing and you
keep on opening
but the room still appears from a distance
always distant
from your eager feet to enter
you say to enter the room i must please the door
but the room moves away just the same
and the door tells you
to keep the room
you have to burn it and when the room is burned
the door finally disappears
and then both the door and the room shall tell you
now be happy
for you now have a house of your own
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Silence
I got a feeling
Everything's gonna be alright
And I still find my way
And I heard
It's always darkest before the storm
So come on let it rain
Everything was different when I was seventeen
The world was so much brighter
Now I finally found the truth
Of what they hid for me
That world was so much kinder
Silence
Don't hear a sound
But my own voice
Silence
Is what it is
By my own choice
I believe
That we were meant to learn from our mistakes
And stumble along the way
Now I know
That people are gonna grap what they can take
Then just turn away
Everybody's searching
But no one really knows the truth
The world is upside down
What it's all about right now
Will soon turn to gray
Their promises have faded
Silence
Silence
Silence
Don't hear a sound
But my own voice
Silence
Don't hear a sound
But my own voice
Silence
Is what it is
By my own choice
All my little merry friends
Have turned their backs on me
Excuse me if I'm jaded
I'm so tired of people telling me
How it should be
Their promises have faded
Silence
Silence
Silence
Don't hear a sound
But my own voice
Silence
Don't hear a sound
But my own voice
Silence
Is what it is
By my own choice
Silence
song performed by by Tiffany
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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a Poem Of Silence
Silence is a beautiful thing.
no other sound is as great as silence.
Silence is the sound of nothing,
but it is still a sound.
even if a sound is great and amazing,
nothing can top the blissfulness of silence.
not the sound of wind on grass,
not the sound of laughter,
nothing is as beautiful as silence.
silence is a sound, but it is so much
better than any other sound.
What created such a far-off winner?
I love silence, silence is the best.
Never there will be a time that there
will be
a greater sound
than silence.
poem by Llew N. Rmail
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L8,2212
There is a door which you open
you enter, and then it closes you
behind you
forever,
there is no force here,
but only volition,
you enter it
with all the warnings,
that the
possibility that it will close forever
has been told to you
over and over
again,
somehow, you do not make it a problem
you like a closed door, and you hate it
when it opens,
you love it when it is closed forever,
the room is nice
there is a certain loveliness
in there,
it has shiny floors,
it has a bright ceiling,
the lights are lovely,
like stars
in an open dark sky
the air is fresh,
the walls are comfortable
who wants to take an exit?
no one.not you.
when the door knows this, it will open
forever,
it decides to open for you
and it will tell you to go out and be
an outsider again and
be gone
for good,
you insist that you own this room now,
that a closed door is not a serious matter
and there is no way that you have to
go out
or be ousted,
the door has a stair with strong hands
and it will drag you out
it will pull your hair and drag your body
like hell
the door has learned its lesson
when the room is not a prison to someone else
there is no use keeping him there forever
for in truth the reason of the door's
existence
is to make you feel the prison and to suffer
and you know your lesson too well
there is no prison to a mind that is an open window
there is no suffering
to a lover of suffering
you see, it takes a little reverse psychology
for closed doors to open
for men to know that suffering is not suffering
at all
when one loves is tripping
when one thinks
otherwise
when one loves whatever happens
when one accepts
the one that is there and not look for something
that is always missing
why go for the unreachable?
why suffer for long?
life is life, and death is death
you are here, grab this here.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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London Rain
I'm coming, i'm coming home to you
I'm alive, i'm a mess
I can't wait to get home to you
To get warm and undressed
There've been changes beyond my dreams
Everybody wants me to sing
There've been changes beyond my grasp
Things i'm sinking in
So keep me, keep me in your bed all day, all day
Nothing heals me like you do
Nothing heals me like you do
And when somebody knows you well
Well, there's no comfort like that
And when somebody needs you
Well, there's no drug like that
So keep me, keep me in your bed all day, all day
Nothing heals me like you do
Nothing heals me like you do
And when i'm home, curled in your arms
And i'm safe again
I'll close my eyes and sleep, sleep
To the sound of london rain
So keep me, keep me in your bed all day, all day
Nothing heals me like you do
So keep me, keep me in your bed all day, all day
Nothing heals me like you do
Nothing heals me like you do
Nothing falls like london rain
Nothing heals me like you do
Nothing falls like london rain
Nothing heals me like you do
Nothing falls like london rain
Nothing heals me like you do
Nothing falls like london rain
Nothing heals me like you do
song performed by by Heather Nova
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Suffering Is Always Personal and Better Left Unshared and Unspoken
my words are waking me up
my hand is ready, the computer beeps
i like to write an email for you
how many times shall this happen?
this urge to let you know
this morning, i again blame myself
because i can't
i am thinking of the consequences
i know how painful is it to fall
how empty can the house become
how a night without a stars can make us cry
sometimes
how the sound of the river when you walk alone
gives you the sound of the cry of the pebbles
they break their silence
they scream
for truths still untold
to rules that cannot be broken
when you enter that empty room again
a ball of silence meets you
you sit beside it
it speaks to you
this is the first time that you have seen
its nature
it is dressed with lips
and when they begin to open to about to speak to you
you close your hands
turning them into fists
and you hit your chest
and the ball of silence moves away from you
it is respect for pain
when silence pretends again that it is just a ball
and that it can go away
for men suffer all alone
on unsaid proportion
with that ability to embrace no
description
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Keep Me
I'm coming, i'm coming home to you
I'm Alive I'm a mess
I can't wait to get home to you
To get warm, warm and undressed
There've been changes beyond my dreams
Everybody wants me to sing
There've been changes beyond my grasp
Things I'm sinking in
So keep me, keep me
In your bed all day, all day
Nothing heals me like you do
Nothing heals me like you do
And when somebody knows you well
Well there's no comfort like that
And when somebody needs you
Well there's no drug Iike that
So keep me, keep me
In your bed all day, all day
Nothing heals me like you do
Keep me keep me
In your bed all day, all day
Nothing heals me like you do
And where l'm home, curled in your arms
And I'm safe again
I'll close my eyes and sleep, sleep
To the sound of London Rain
So keep me, keep me
In your bed all day, all day
Nothing heals me like you do
Keep me keep me
In your bed all day, all day
Nothing heals me like you do
Nothing heals me like you do
Nothing falls like London Rain
Nothing heals me like you do
Nothing falls like London Rain
Nothing heals me like you do
Nothing falls like London Rain
Nothing heals me like you do
song performed by by Heather Nova
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sounds Of The Earth (Part Two)
i hear the sounds of young lovers,
moaning, groaning, and whimpering.
the rush of wind,
that startles the curtains.
the slap of wet bodies,
the sigh of the candle.
low words cooed,
without need for definition.
i feel the tears of the sinner,
hear them hit the floor.
the prayers, and confessions,
the guilt, and the need.
the heavy breathing of redemption,
and the silence that heals...
yes, even the silence
has its own sound!
i hear the bones of the nameless,
rising from their hidden graves.
to dance in the holiness,
of identity regained!
i hear the crackle of the fire,
as life becomes vapor.
i hear the stranger at the door,
and know well his voice!
i feel these sounds,
swelling up within me.
erupting from my conscience,
till song becomes song.
and i hear the heartbeats,
of newborn babies and small children.
of the old woman dying
in a forgotten room.
the heartbeats of wolves,
of birds, and silent cattle.
the heartbeats of things
lost to memory and time....
and each sound alike,
alike in their difference...
sounding like mine,
like yours...
and like god's!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Good Night Old Self
unlike before,
when i unlock a door
in a house where i have lived all alone
for years
i feel like crying
hearing the sound of the living room
in the anguish of the
silence that it has never chosen
there is always the imagined sound of rain and
it is eerie
there is a spiteful
space that is always trying to strangle you
a hollow hole inside
my guts
i must have gone beyond the demarcation line
or i must have jumped that fence
having grown longer
these pair of legs that have outgrown the
looseness of corduroy pants
now it is different
i feel the content of having to accept that when i was born
i never had a twin
now the silence of this room is comforting
telling me that the crowd in fact does not serve
but chokes you as well
with whatever whims it has
what to do with my life
or where to do things the way they should be properly done
i am fed up with all these dictates of the mob
i have proclaimed that i am a different reality
in fact more beautiful than the face of the average
the many, the crowding people
as i open this door, i hear the song of my own silence
sweeter than ever
i leave my dirty shoes
take off my stinking socks
i lie my body on the soft sofa
and take my sleep
i don't even need a television to make my eyes
weary and
thus have the much needed sleep.
good night old self. I shall dream anew.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Fogging Up The Windows
the sound of a small child crying
hungry in the night
of a young woman sleepless
waiting for daylight
the sound of church bells ringing
not too far away
the sound of an old man dying
remembering how to pray
the sound of two hearts breaking
a thousand miles apart
of the last tear a fallin'
unseen in the dark
the sound of lifetimes wasted
of a love that didnt last
the sound of memories forgotten
of a time already past
can you hear?
can you hear?
a lone tree a fallin'
a hoot owl callin'
life and death, a lover's breath
fogging up the windows
of an empty room...
fogging up the windows
of an empty room...
the sound of the nails driven
into His screaming hands
the sound of salvation
entrusted to a man
the sound of bodies falling
of buildings swept by flame
the sound of different voices
whose souls are the same
can you hear?
can you hear?
a lone tree a fallin'
a hoot owl callin'
life and death, a lover's breath
fogging up the windows
of an empty room...
fogging up the windows
of an empty room....
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Virtue Of Self-reliance....
i wait for no one
and no one waits for me
copy: i am an island
i touch no one and no one touches me
does this sound like poetry at all?
does this sound like an existential angst of one who wants to hold on the hooks of words
fished out from the confused waters?
for one, i haven't heard the cries for help
there is only the sound of feet and hands flapping like the fins of a fish
as though
someone is short of breath
and about to die
i like this,
this way to the door of the music room
sitting on a bench
facing a piano
as i begin to press and let my fingers travel distances
each note
takes me to nowhere, relying only on the sound of its longing
no destination, no purpose
ah, like a cocoon hanging on a leaf
merely passing the time away
without the dream of a butterfly
inside its darkness
ah, everything blooms,
everything opens
let us see how can this happen to me
watch me as i too watch you
this must be life then, surprises all surprises
how can boredom be so real?
how can jejune be June?
what about the numerical ennui on the month of May?
listen, listen
drink the silence
savor this inner peace
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Today... 'The Door
Where do we mortals find that narrow heavenly Door?
Through which millions of sinners have entered before?
It is found at the cross where Jesus was crucified
There for You paid for our sins, laid down Your life and died
With Your arms outstretched so wide and saying, 'Come to me'
For we find forgiveness by Your death at Calvary
And we see the Door before us swinging open wide
Allowing us to pass through the veil to heavens side
At the cross the veil in the temple was rent in two
We can still hear You calling sinners to come to You
For the door into heaven has been flung open wide
'Come to me you weary, ' we hear as we go inside
Calvary's cross is the Door through which man can go through
And there is no other way only this door will do
For You are the Way by which we must enter heaven
It is at the cross we must come to be forgiven
Then as we look behind us on the lintel we see
'Chosen before the foundation of the world in Me'
Though millions have come yet there is still room for more
God by His Grace has allowed us to enter the Door
So come to that Door for it is opened wide for you
And taste the glories of heaven as you enter through
The cry goes out 'whosoever will may enter in'
It is at the Cross where your journey has to begin
All who enter the door shall be safely kept inside
There forever with the Lord Jesus they all shall abide
Each one was chosen by God before the world began
Included by His grace as part of salvations plan
(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box below)
Do Yiu Listen..Or Do U Hear
s the sun rises, , all is quite no chatter of people no cars goin by
but in this silence i hear
i hear the wind as she sings her song
i hear the birds in the sky as they fly by
this is the best silence of all
no phones ringing, no engines reviing as they race by
i hear everything in nature in its glory
can u hear it too..or can u not silence ur selfs
i hear the clouds as they roll in
its this silence that i take pen in hand
and write
u think as u read but thier is no silence
for u can hear the horses roam
u can hear the thunder off in th distance
but when we are loud we caint hear
the beauty of what surrounds
so as u read this poem silence ur mind
and next time u walk out side
silence you mouth ur mind
and u can see silence of the
of all things
then u can truly hear
as i do
and a beautfull sound to see
greyicewolf
.
poem by Jeff Greyicewolf
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The Guitarist
Strum the strings
From room to room
The sound will ring
Sealed in its case
Taking up space
I use a pick to play
The guitar, everyday
Playing a chord
Only when I'm bored
Strum the strings
From room to room
The sound will ring
Its base is wood
Its strings are not
When you cannot play
There is nothing to flaunt
Before you play
Tune the sound
Strum on and on
Until a rhythm is found
Strum the strings
From room to room
The sound will ring
I
I have nothing to say
No light to use
No music to play
I'm idle
For I have
No guitar to play
poem by Pete Rivera
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The Sound Of Sadness
it is not the crackers
crisp and
deafening such that
you cannot hear
a movie script
such that you cannot
figure out what the lead says
it is the sound of the wind leaving
the treetops
passing through a door which is already closed
it is the hush from a mouth
sealed forever
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Spooky Life
At times, my life borders on the paranormal,
witnessing things and hearing things
I cannot readily explain.
Ghosts enter and exit my life on a regular basis.
I’ve witnessed a ball of light fall from the night sky
and then return back to the heavens.
I’ve seen a house burn down until there was nothing left
and a year later I witnessed it do it again
on the anniversary of the first time.
I’ve seen a woman open a door and enter a room,
but when I went to find her moments later,
there was no one there.
I had a conversation with myself to a friend
and a week later, that conversation
took place word for word for real.
It may sound spooky,
but it brings me no fear
as not of it can hurt me
and only I can do that with fear.
(28 June 2011)
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tolerance
[ merchant ]
The still and silence is torn with violence.
A loud breaking sound in the night is made.
Hear it grow, hear it fade.
The sound youre hearing, the sound youre fearing
Is the hate that parades up and down our streets, coming within bounds and within reach.
Now, inside the place we hide away, we hear it near and hope it turns away.
Turn away...
Theres something seething in the air were breathing.
We learn slash and burn is the method to use.
Set a flame, burn it new.
Were overpowered.
We kneel, we cower, we cover our heads.
Feel the threat of blows that will come and the damage that will be done in its wake.
Now, inside this place we hide away, we hear it near although its miles away.
We hear it near and hope it turns away.
Turn away...
This house divided, we live inside it.
Hates dwelling place is behind our door in fitful nights.
Hear it walk the floor and hear it rave as it moans and drags along its ball and chain,
As it moves through this house it cant escape.
Now inside this place we hide away.
We hear it near and hope it turns away.
Turn away....
song performed by by 10000 Maniacs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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