Whispered Silence

Day XXII
(XXXI Days of Poetry, MMXII)

Whispered Silence

They say glass is a liquid, moving too slowly to see. That is what it feels like. The air is still, thick, unmoving. Walled off by whispered sheets of glass. Whispered silence. You say you love me, but not enough to be with me. You say you need me, but not enough to ask for help. You say I am important, but you don't make anything 
that is important to me important to you. You say you want me, but you have forgotten what that means The shockwave of initial blows, 
leading to the sick helplessness of hurt unending. Only love twisted can cause pain this deep and abiding. The fights, no matter their cause, all lead to that same place. That reservoir of sorrow, of expectations unmet, of hopes unrealized; Love's flame no longer able to light the night's storm. Until all that's left is for hurt to be acknowledged. Waiting for something that will never come.








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