No sound was made
No breath exhaled
No footstep on the fallen snow
But silently
A sign detailed
What was really going on below
The mind was closed,
The door locked tight,
The lights off and the house made dim
But silently
A figure of night
Let themselves noiselessly in
The presence suddenly alert
The sleeping person now awake
Silently,
The vulnerable hurt
Refused to let the intruder their soul take
He cried,
"What do you want from me?
"You'll not find anything worth taking in here!"
Silently,
The figure smiled disconcertingly
And made no move to draw yet near.
They only held up a package
Badly wrapped, and wrinkled yet
And silently
Set the wrapped thing on a page
Of an open book, and turned and left
After ascertaining the shadow'd gone,
The trembling fingers tore the wrapping apart
Silently,
The vulnerable one cried out with a broken song
Because there on the paper was his heart.
Below the re-assembled heart
On the book page, written in blue,
Silently,
He read the words with a start:
"It was always you."
His walls vanished,
His locks broke the key
And for the first time, without silence,
His heart was replenished with his emotions
And he was finally free.
Hello all! I'm sorry I haven't written in so long; my family's been sick with stomach flu and I've had so much homework for Christmas finals before break. I have no idea what your personal take on this story was, but I hope you enjoyed reading it. <3
Happy holidays to you, and may you stay beautiful and happy! :)
YOU ARE READING
These Insufficient Words
PoetryPoetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words. -Robert Frost This is my own collection of thoughts. My own stories, through the deepest sorrow and highest peaks of happiness I've had in my rather brief life, and s...
