arguskos

Silence is my mantra, music is my siren. Spinning around and again, singing a shushed song that only the deaf can hear. The space between my ears is filled with the sound of silence, stunning and stinging my mind until nothing is left but the silence itself. The light inside may be broken but I still, inexplicably, work. A stupid still singer, singing the song of his people: serenity, at any price.

Steel and silver embracing like lovers after a drought of years. Tendrils coiled around and around, forever imprisoning thoughts that can not be released. Symbols of success, tools of control and power, these chains are neither friend nor ally. They are judge and jailer, and for their service and love I am ever grateful, even if I can't show it.

I went back to our garden today I was waiting for Sally, Who used to be your friend too. Until you went away. The flowers were mostly gone, It's fall, you know, But a few remained, Including your favorites, the little blue ones. She's telling me something, But I don't hear her, I'm remembering those late nights, The smell of your hair and feel of your smile. Do you remember those days? The sparkling smiles and sincere laughs? I wonder if you miss them, If you ever regret the angry division. Doesn't matter now, choices were made, And words said that can't be unsaid, But still I wonder And wish you well, wherever you went. You're gone now

The argument raged and raged and nothing changed. We threw thoughts against each other and rolled off like rain on a windshield. Accusations flew and tempers soared and only the muted click of powering down saved my phone from destruction and you are still gone. "It's for the best" as though you know whats best for me, "You're desperate for companionship" as though wanting my friend back is a sin. I have so much to tell you so many ways I could help but you don't want to hear it, don't want to try. You claimed you were too busy to cope, that it'll take years and years, but it doesn't have to, not if you wanted it enough. I beat a man dow

I am a gamemaster, it is my craft and I have excelled, knowing the turn of the dice and the flips of the cards. Others look to me and ask my advice on if to stay or fold, to draw or play, and how to throw, But who would ever know that I'd give it all up if I only could. Somewhere, deep in my soul, an emptiness began to grow. There's something out there that I have never known. And now I want nothing else but to forget my skills, to give it all away, and start again somewhere new. I have grown so tired of the same old thing, and though I may be skilled, it does nothing for my empty tears.

A hole in the heart an opening in the spirit an emptiness I've never and always known was there. Aching for something that's no longer in my grasp. Screaming in my sleep crying in my dreams dying a thousand deaths because I was not strong enough. I know she lives and smiles now but that is not enough for my shattered and stomped out flame of life. Forgive me, my gods for turning on your words and forgive me, my love, for everything I've done and may yet do.

Can text be art? Is it enough to shape emotion, to bleed onto the page? No, I think it is not. Were it so, poetry would have the same high regard that music holds. But it does not. Music is so much more powerful, much more loved. Poems merely cast words on the breeze, and are just as insubstantial.

Is it right to remind someone of something they've chosen to forget? I don't believe so. But if not reminding them means not speaking at all? How can someone choose? It comes down to love and what I believe to be right. My heart says speak. My mind says silence. We'll see how the future goes.

I'm standing naked in the dark screaming at the walls that hem me in on all sides. There's no escape from this. I rage and scream and pound upon the cage of my making but the bars are unyielding and I can have no release. Not until debt is paid. I see my goal, not so far away from me, and hear her sibilant tune and want to blame her for the cage. But it's not her that built it. Frantically, I stretch through the spaces waving my hands and begging for the key but she's got nothing for me, her own troubles take priority. I'll die here, in this tomb. A voice lilts to me on the wind, singing songs of freedom and love and I hate it for its tem