Mute

When we suffer in silence

Mute

How easy to strike a wounded soul
Words that pierce as Zeus’s bolts
 Find my tattered heart
Yet I think not to speak
Under sinking sands of time
 I flail, Unable to breathe
As a child,
Helpless
Drowning in the mire
Yet I think not to speak . . .
 I think not to cry out against that which oppresses me
I think not to scream with rage at injustice
Helpless child that I am
Floundering in a world of dark,
I cannot find my way  
One would think me mute
For I think not to speak.

Author's Note

A poem from Heart of Issaras: Fragmented Perceptions

Reviews

[dawnmarie]

congrats on the win.... in the best of the worst :o)