THE VOICE OF SILENCE.
Sometimes silence describes a situation far better than words ever will,
Sometimes a strange set of words describe paints it years later;
The limits are set and broken by the words ,
The reticence ,muteness and reserve let out...
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Does anybody know the real me,
I wonder, If even the he who says we,
Knows the real side of the poor me,
And who to blame, me it would be!
Just the person people ignore,
Unless and until they need a chore.
Painful, but I realized I am just a wallflower.
Partial, I observe I help, But for him I am never real.
I cant be, I am just a wall flower,
The beauty, the relief; I heal,
But to be his, I should be real and,
A wall flower doesn't grow on land.
Sad, he says I am too far to reach,
Does he know am down at his hearth, in his heart beat?
Maybe he does, but the wall flower is good.
A machine, inert, just works on need.
No emotions, no hurt, I am just so perfect,
Little does he know, the me-wrecked.
It is just an ignorance, the word just a pacifier.
Truth, far and unfair, no one can love a wall flower.
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Quote:
"In spite of her plainness that would have made wallflowers of other women, she radiated a great sense of self-importance." -Robert Galbreith, The Cuckoo's Calling.
