The Melody of Silence, a poem by THEHUMANANVIL at
Simon Harvey

The Melody of Silence

The Melody of Silence




The sky was a lyre;
Pink palate of rose,
Sapphire Melody, and ebony prose.
And I stood there,
Just above the crest,
Witness to this silence,
Mute to the rest.

My hand, arced a pose,
I was holding the time,
And the ghosts of men,
Pale and soft, like fleece of the soul,
Circled me,
Like a silver ringlet,
In a tiara of pain,
Aiming to mime,
My claustrophobic completeness of being,
Rooted to the ground.

Fevered they spoke,
With blood and bones,
Flowers I understood but this I don’t.

So they paved a new path,
And built pillars around,
Walls around my waist,
A dome as a crown,
Had my lips weren’t of marble,
I would have said:
‘You living are fools,
To pray to one dead,
Go sharpen your tools,
And grow your own bread,
I have my own sadness,
More than you will know,
I am the tallest of all kind,
And yet cannot grow.’

But all they heard, was fury and fife,
So they lined more innocent,
And sharpened their knife.

Neath my I fear,
The world was on fire,
Above me I knew,
The sky was a lyre,
Here life was dyed scarlet,
By men and their woes,
There lay an open canvas;
A pink palate of rose,
And I knew I had fallen,
Broken where I stood above the crest,
An ally of silence,
The same as the rest.



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.

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