A poem…

 

A silent ending, a goodbye not said
Leaving raw wounds, unseen tears, hearts of lead
Lying dormant in the chasms of fear
To speak of it would be too much to bear

Directing a safe play of illusions
Intolerant of mistimed intrusions
We keep to the rehearsed script, oh so wise
Rich in unspoken truths and spoken lies

Pursed lips stained by generational pain
Harsh silence borne of clipped feelings and strain
Resistant resolve, anger in whispers
No one skilled as talkers or listeners

Some conversations will never take place
Accepting this is our first act of grace

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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