The Silence Along My Spine


It is a dream I do not remember
But remember all the same
Like those faces I desire
Without knowing their name
As if in the grand scheme of things
Wherein a million stories unfold
I am just a chapter
Of a young man who grew old

These oceans which are open
These skies which are blind
These forests which aren’t silent
These mountains sans a mind
Are mine to behold and break
To bind and to find
For the similes to be kept never similar
And metaphors ever one of a kind

You can call my claims childish
Or let my words make you weep
When you see the vacuum in my voice
Hover upon my lower lip
Where the broken wind balances
Those desires and despair
And life in its likeliest form
Is heartbeat at the end of a hair

If only I could myself see and show
What I have lost in my pursuit to know
The allegories of living
Without wanting to grow
Alas, I have my own
Reason to bear the blame:
For to the man who shall leave no footprints
The dust is all the same
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Author: TheHumanAnvil

I find poetry as a gentle reminder, a medium to relay and dwell upon all things considerate people find inconsiderate. Poetry as an art is akin to a lamp or a magnifying glass. It trails volumes of meaning behind obscure, vague words. I have been writing for a time now, and intend to do so for the time to come. And hopefully, hopefully, hope that one day, someday, a person stumbling across this veil of words, find it alluring enough to shift aside the curtain and peer, into the eyes of the naked truth which sways with the wind of reason. If you have any thoughts, it would be my pleasure to know them, if you don't then it would be a pleasure to not. Be my guest. This feast of words is for you.

11 thoughts on “The Silence Along My Spine”

  1. It skipped my mind to comment on this exquisite piece.
    This is one of your many poems that, I firmly believe, belongs to a English Literature textbook. It holds so much in just a few stanzas, and leaves the reader in a euphoric state by the end of it (if that makes sense). Aspiring writers should study it for its message and style, seriously. There’s a dearth of good literature in these times.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you very much, Pragya, for your ever encouraging presence and compliments. It means a lot to have as good a writer as you acknowledge my work and hold it to such high esteem. Always indebted. πŸ™πŸ»πŸ™πŸ»πŸ™πŸ» Although I must add that they truly pale when in comparison with your work.

      Liked by 1 person

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