A Conversation With Silence

A Conversation With Silence

A Poem by Al R. Arce

A very depressing poem...


It is odd, talking to you, when I know you know everything that's on my mind
There is nothing I can say, nothing to tell or explain
That hasn't been said or told without me speaking a word
Yet here I am, desperate to let it all out, as loud as I can shout
Screaming my lungs out, seeking for answers or consolation
Trying to grasp an understanding of these things that keep me in isolation
I know you can see it. I know you can feel me. I know you know I am true.
How long must I endure? What else is there to learn? It is not just about me.
Mom taught me nothing bad lasts a hundred years
But I tell you that it sure feels like a hundred years to me...

It feels cold, reaching out to you, knowing there'll be no answers, no signs, no clues
There will be nothing but this emptiness I so wish to lose
This silence that deafens me, not allowing me to listen those who do have voice
Yet here I am, silent, knowing that you wont break the silence
Desperate to hear a choice or at least a lie that will give solace
I scratch through the emptiness, trying to grab onto something that isn't there
I know you are there, I know you have feelings. I know you know everything about me
I am tired, so tired. What's the point of this all? There are others besides me.
Mom taught me nothing bad lasts a hundred years
But I tell you that a hundred years should never feel like this.

I've been bold, a liar and deceiver, I am still a selfish sinner
But I've received far more pain than what I've dealt
I am not innocent but in this purgatory, I've paid my time
Yet here I am, tired and angry, wondering if you are there at all
Wanting to escape, regardless of the consequence
Just so I can be with those near me for a one fleeing moment
I know you know if I'll do it or not. I am unable to hide from you
I am on my knees, beaten, gasping for air, begging to be freed
Mom taught me nothing bad lasts a hundred years
But if not a hundred years, how long must I last before relieved?

I am old, or at least getting there in a hurry. Time for me is no longer a luxury
Patience and faith do very little at this time to ease my restlessness
As I feel time eluding me my soul gets filled with hopelessness
Yet here I am, in solitude, struggling to keep myself sane
I know that being human is no excuse for not being a saint
But being no saint does not justify you keeping me in ruins
I know you know all this, and my opinion on this matter, matters not
I am here, with or without you, alone with my thoughts
Mom taught me nothing bad lasts a hundred years
But you know a hundred years is something I don't have.

I was told good things come to those who wait. Has my wait been long enough?
Will I see life make up for all of this? Will you show up or just shut up?
I have nothing to tell you, no promises or compromises to offer you
Yet here I am, begging to a shadow whose hiding within the darkness
Talking with someone or no one at all. Having a conversation with silence
Hoping that a voice other than myself's breaks through my numbness
I know there is no one here, only the echo of my tears
I am waiting as there is nothing else to do, hoping you will listen
Yes I know... Nothing bad lasts a hundred years
Yet should you give me a hundred years, I will live a lifetime on my last one to live.

© 2015 Al R. Arce

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Very bold and sincerity can be heard in your voice. Such a killer way to wrap it up as well!

Posted 6 Years Ago

1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

sometimes we just have to get these feelings out and on to paper where we can deal with them. I can relate to feeling like this - well penned.

Posted 6 Years Ago

1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

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2 Reviews
Added on December 16, 2015
Last Updated on December 16, 2015
Tags: Prison, god, loneliness


Al R. Arce
Al R. Arce

St. Louis, MO

I'm in my 50's. My family is my life. Writing is my hobby. I hope you find here something that you enjoy. Constructive comments are welcomed. If you ask me to read something I will. Thank you for.. more..

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A Story by Al R. Arce

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