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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Related quotes
Outside331’sSleep
Don’t open your eyes yet not until I explain last night I went to bed with Sleep last night I fell for Sleep last night Sleep unclothed me left me naked in a room painted black I couldn’t see Sleep because Sleep was dark too and the room was black and the foreground blended in with the background I couldn’t tell what was far and what was close I became frustrated because Sleep was either hiding inside the room or the room was hiding behind Sleep neither were being fair to my eyes who wanted to play hide and go Sleep I hide inside the room and Sleep seeks I said where are you Sleep I can’t see you my eyes can’t find you Sleep I said I wanted to fall inside you brought me into this black room and I am trying to wrap myself around you won’t you come inside of me you won’t stage scenes in my eyes created with color everything is black one long stretch Sleep are you moving and I can’t see you or are you standing still and I can’t feel you are here Sleep you are silent Sleep I feel alone Sleep I want you to be inside me if you take me to a black room and make me go to bed are your eyes open I can’t see you did you leave is Sleep here Sleep am I inside you explain Sleep explain did you open your eyes Sleep are my eyes open Sleep are you outside me Sleep you took me to bed and left me Sleep I can’t open my eyes until you are back inside me I can’t see Sleep when you’re not inside me open your eyes Sleep do you see me inside you explain last night am I still inside Sleep?
(12-13-07)
poem by Chelsea Trescott
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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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two selves: the black and white horses of Plato
what you remember
is that time when you look at yourself in the mirror
inside a room you lock the door
you hear voices you suspect there is a demented spirit
with you, ah, the usual
closing of the eyes, to start with, it is like you are in a position
to start the race, like a gazelle hurdling a forest, you hear a bang
it is a gun, you see smoke to the sky,
you hear people cheering, there are no colors, just darkness
it is twilight and then
you open your eyes, this is not real, there is no crowd
there are no cheers, you only hear voices
and now when you are fully awake
you see a face,
and you feel so much pity for it
how you have harmed it
caused it pain that it does not deserve
there is a wall between two people
you do not penetrate it, each wants to leave each other
but there is no segregation, there are no departures here,
no sound of planes or trains, no horns no bells
it is just the plain silence of pity
enveloping the room locking the room
your face still wanting to escape
those bars
in the mirror.
you repeat, 'What a pity! '
you only have sympathy for the self
that you have never completely
become
this is the reality, you are not
and never shall be the perfect you.
pockmarked, scarred, twisted
gutted, ashed...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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All You Want
I'd like to watch you sleep at night
to hear you breathe by my side
And though sleep leaves me behind
there's nowhere I'd rather be
And now our bed is oh so cold
my hands feel empty
no one to hold
I can sleep what side I want
It's not the same with you gone
Oh if you'd come home
I'll let you know that
All you want
Is right here in this room
All you need
Is sitting here with you
All you want
It's been three years
One night apart
but in that night you tore my heart
If only you had slept alone
If those seeds had not been sown
Oh you could come home and you would know that
All you want
Is right here in this room
All you need
Is sitting here with you
All you want
I hear your key turning in the door
I won't be hearing that sound anymore
And you and your sin
can leave the way you just came in
send my regards to her
I hope you've found that
All you want
Is right there in that room
All you need
Is sitting there with you
All you want
I'd like to watch you sleep at night
to hear you breathe by my side
song performed by by Dido from No Angel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Catastrophe Within Silence
silence as in a room with no sound
but the hard pounding drops of rain against the window
silence as in being in a crowd of people
but no one is paying any attention to you
silence as in the pain that harvests inside
but not a soul is around to help u through it
silence yet another meaning of no commotion
but leaves many oblivious to anything of mention
there is catastrophe within silence
but who are those to even realize it?
not a word against a crowd
or a cry for help
not a simple acknowledgment
or an act speaking an opinion
silence
silence may be the
fear
shock
or agitation
within our world that leaves everyone
speechless
till all that is left is
catastrophe within silence
poem by Erin Sullivan
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Triple Homicide
I'm glad the fighting's stopped
the house is silent
empty
this is how I like it
no yelling
no fights
no broken glass
silence
when they're both gone I'm happy
but when they come home
I go straight to my room
I try to be quiet
as I listen to music in the closet
the fight begins
there screaming
this time I hear my name
I ignore it
not wanting to join the fight
my dad bursts in yelling for me
my window left open he screams
he thinks I'm gone
I thought quickly
as my mom ran in
silence
silence
silence
my dad yells again
at my crying mom
I cry silently
as she's pulled from the room
screaming
I hear a gunshot and I jump
grabbing a pocket knife
from my jacket
the cries stop
then another shot
a loud thump
as a body falls
I climb out of the closet
knife in hand
blood pouring out my
parents bedroom door
silence
I open the door and see two
bodies on the floor
a gun in my father's hand
silence
silence
silence
then sirens
and cops coming around the corner
so I take the gun from my dad
hold it to my head
a loud pop
then
silence
silence
silence
t he cops would
call this a triple homicide
or double homicide and suicide
but I call this
a family
who needed help
poem by No Reason To Care
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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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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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Sleepy Mom
Mom is waking in a room
Her heart and soul full of gloom,
Now in the hall of the house,
Not everything is guiet as a mouse
She can't sleep silence, nor do anything with the children
She is sad and crying in sadness, silence;
The pain in her heart violent.
She is weak from walking the hell all night
Wanting to sleep in silence with all her might
She can't do anything but sleep with her children in bed,
Silence; time and time again.
Until you know what you can do and can't do,
Your children won't be safe without you
You can keep them away from the big bad wolf
You can keep a watch on them from any danger,
whether from a friend or from a stranger,
You can sleep in silence now,
Be happy and take a bow,
Protect me from the dark or from a bomb,
you have down your job.
poem by Keith Scott
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The Sadness of The Empty Home
The light flickers on
Illuminates the empty hallway
The thud, click of a door in closing
Brings a silence to the room
A heavy sigh escapes
A look to the mirror sees only
Tired eyes looking back
A bag lain upon the small table
The light turned back off
On route to yet another room
Light creeps through the window
Allowing enough to see
The sound of a running tap
Filling the kettle for a final drink
Keys thrown upon a side
The clatter of cups and spoons
Then further silence
Now the creaking of a staircase
Another door opened
Another light flicked on
The curtains drawn to the world
Drink set beside the bed
The silence of the empty home
Fills the heart with loneliness
A television switched into life
Nothing worth watching
Just a sound there to fill
The silence and the sadness
Of the empty home
poem by Matthew Holloway
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The Bowl and The Spoon
i hear the sound of humanity's voices,
the sound of suffering and need.
i smell the fear, and i feel the anger,
of those left alone, the victims of greed.
i feel the hate of the guns and the bombing,
the terror of women and children.
i cry the tears and shed blood with them,
i hear the prayers of the dead for the living.
i feel the hunger of children left starving,
i am the anger of the unemployed in line.
i breathe the despair of those left homeless,
i am the hope of those looking for a sign.
i am the body that somehow god needed,
i am the ears the lonely pray for.
i am the eyes that see through the heart,
the prisoner walking through the last door.
i hear the sound of the baby crying,
i feel the mother walking across the room.
i am the father praying for work,
i am the bowl and i am the spoon.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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About A Stone Without A Door
you are telling me about a stone
who refuses to admit anyone simply
because it has no door, no room and no space
for someone like you,
you who does not even know what knowing someone
really means. you ask the stone for a space and it says no
and you tell the stone that it has a space
where the leaf and a dropp of water live
the stone says no, and you insist because of the state you are in
you are dying and you need a place
perhaps a burial space where you may finally lay yourself
to rest, but the stone still says no, telling you that it has
no feelings that for centuries it has always been its nature
stony, stony silence, stony stares, unfeeling, that in its
house of stone, there exists no word for sympathy
that it is simply living up to the demands of its true nature
its tradition, and you finally understand, yet somehow you
tell the stone about what it does not know
inside it there is this leaf with dew, there is dropp of water
coming from the rain, that until now it has not fully known,
that inside its stony silence, there is still this song
that it has a heart that it keeps denying.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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339
you are telling me about a stone
who refuses to admit anyone simply
because it has no door, no room and no space
for someone like you,
you who does not even know what knowing someone
really means. you ask the stone for a space and it says no
and you tell the stone that it has a space
where the leaf and a dropp of water live
the stone says no, and you insist because of the state you are in
you are dying and you need a place
perhaps a burial space where you may finally lay yourself
to rest, but the stone still says no, telling you that it has
no feelings that for centuries it has always been its nature
stony, stony silence, stony stares, unfeeling, that in its
house of stone, there exists no word for sympathy
that it is simply living up to the demands of its true nature
its tradition, and you finally understand, yet somehow you
tell the stone about what it does not know
inside it there is this leaf with dew, there is dropp of water
coming from the rain, that until now it has not fully known,
that inside its stony silence, there is still this song
that it has a heart that it keeps denying.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Silence, ssst
Silence
Silence
Silently, ssst, ssssst, please, ssst
Silence
Silence is my guidance.
Through the jungle of lions.
The only way to survive.
My thoughts need hiding
Silence not a word.
Voices where they from?
silence say no more
Don’t open the door
Or the silence will leave us all.
Silence, silence
Silently they are gone.
Silence, I am alone.
Silence is born
Now I am truly torn
Silently I mourn
That I always was alone.
poem by Nadim Lost Soul
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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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A Night Passes In A Silenceless Torment
A night passes in a Silenceless Torment
Even the most beautiful songs
Cannot quell the restlessness-
There are times when one is not born for this
Or any other world-
Dissatisfaction restlessness frustration
Cannot yield the best poetry-
Tormented songs repeat themselves
What was once beautiful
Now irritates as relentless noise-
There is the need for a different kind of beauty
A song from within that no external song can give-
I want silence
No other song
Only silence
Silence and more silence
A poetry of silence
Or even a silence without poetry
Silence
The kind of silence in which the torment has ended
Sleep perhaps
Silence silence
Please.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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In His Silence
In His silence-
I can hear and feel His Spirit in
me
His silence-In
I can perceive His Instructions For me.
In His silence-
I can feel His Bosom embracing
me.
In His silence-
I can feel His Nail-Scarred
hands directing me.
In His silence-
I can feel He is touched with
my infirmity.
In his silence-
I know He will never leave or
forsake me.
In His silence-
I have life eternity.
poem by Sarah A. Bell
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We Love To Do Bad Behind Walls And When We Go Out We Like To Be Seen Unblemished
out there you are an angel and they always love the softness
of your feathers
the innocence of your angelic face
your coyness
you make them feel so good and holy,
then you go inside your house, close the door and the windows
you remove your pair of wings
lay them on the corner of your resting place
you unlock the secret cover that keeps your
holiness
you remove some parts here and there
and you look at the mirror and smile
how you fool everyone
you rub your body with the usual throbbings
of your truths
comes out the sap of evil that your real body secretes
foul
dirty
pungent
and all these things
you really love to eat when you are left
all alone,
the body of a wolf, the face of the demon,
the tail of a snake
the teeth of the shark
the poison of the tarantula
it is you and your liquids and sap
inside you
everything is evil
tonight you will think of other new thoughts
schemes, ways and manners of projections
for your future
you sleep and dream
accustomed to evil you have killed your conscience
tomorrow, soon,
the people will know, something deep within you
keeps whispering.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Quiet Lodger
The man that rooms next door to me:
Two weeks ago, this very night,
He took possession quietly,
As any other lodger might--
But why the room next mine should so
Attract him I was vexed to know,--
Because his quietude, in fine,
Was far superior to mine.
'Now, I like quiet, truth to tell,
A tranquil life is sweet to me--
But _this_,' I sneered, 'suits me too well.--
He shuts his door so noiselessly,
And glides about so very mute,
In each mysterious pursuit,
His silence is oppressive, and
Too deep for me to understand.'
Sometimes, forgetting book or pen,
I've found my head in breathless poise
Lifted, and dropped in shame again,
Hearing some alien ghost of noise--
Some smothered sound that seemed to be
A trunk-lid dropped unguardedly,
Or the crisp writhings of some quire
Of manuscript thrust in the fire.
Then I have climbed, and closed in vain
My transom, opening in the hall;
Or close against the window-pane
Have pressed my fevered face,--but all
The day or night without held not
A sight or sound or counter-thought
To set my mind one instant free
Of this man's silent mastery.
And often I have paced the floor
With muttering anger, far at night,
Hearing, and cursing, o'er and o'er,
The muffled noises, and the light
And tireless movements of this guest
Whose silence raged above my rest
Hoarser than howling storms at sea--
The man that rooms next door to me.
But twice or thrice, upon the stair,
I've seen his face--most strangely wan,--
Each time upon me unaware
He came--smooth'd past me, and was gone.
So like a whisper he went by,
I listened after, ear and eye,
Nor could my chafing fancy tell
The meaning of one syllable.
Last night I caught him, face to face,--
He entering his room, and I
Glaring from mine: He paused a space
And met my scowl all shrinkingly,
But with full gentleness: The key
Turned in his door--and I could see
It tremblingly withdrawn and put
Inside, and then--the door was shut.
Then silence. _Silence_!--why, last night
The silence was tumultuous,
And thundered on till broad daylight;--
O never has it stunned me thus!--
It rolls, and moans, and mumbles yet.--
Ah, God! how loud may silence get
When man mocks at a brother man
Who answers but as silence can!
The silence grew, and grew, and grew,
Till at high noon to-day 'twas heard
Throughout the house; and men flocked through
The echoing halls, with faces blurred
With pallor, gloom, and fear, and awe,
And shuddering at what they saw--
The quiet lodger, as he lay
Stark of the life he cast away.
* * * * *
So strange to-night--those voices there,
Where all so quiet was before;
They say the face has not a care
Nor sorrow in it any more--
His latest scrawl:--'Forgive me--You
Who prayed, 'they know not what they do!''
My tears wilt never let me see
This man that rooms next door to me!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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The silence speaks...
Sometimes, when you are alone,
In the dark cloudy night,
Only the lightening shows you the life,
A numb silence surrounds you.
You may feel the words from the air,
You would never think of the happening,
But you know what, the silence speaks,
The silence tells us our future,
The time we can't imagine, the uncertainty,
The silence knows all of those,
There is no explanation of that,
You may call it a prejudice or blind belief,
However you define it, it is the fact,
Silence speaks us, warns us, shows us.
It is a kind of opaque mirror,
Behind its, all the future are hidden,
But we only can see the light through it,
We just need to belief inside ourselves,
Then only then we can hear, we can feel,
The silence speaks to us...
poem by Kafil Uddin Raihan.
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