A Bitter Sweet Poetry Book

Ballad

The Girl Who Is Silent

Normal, they called me, you are as normal as anyone.

And yet, I'm not, because I am different. I can't speak.

Lost in the plumes of fire of my past, it consumed my voice while

I screamed for my life for someone, anyone to save me.

But lost in fire means my once strong voice is weak.

My story turned to ashes,

My face like an antique clock, archaic as a desolate island.

I look normal to others, but I am broken by time -

I am the girl who is silent.

Piece by piece, I realize the reality that I can't sing

Like I used to like the mockingbirds can every morn.

I curse the world that sings its silver heart that rings

On the whispers of the wind. Its plain bragging disdains me,

My desperate but unheard pleas ignored in degree,

Walking on a crooked path, silent 'cept for the flutter of wings.

My story turned to ashes,

My face like an antique clock, archaic as a desolate island.

I look normal to others, but I am broken by time -

I am the girl who is silent.

Discrete, I walk home under the glowing lanterns of the sky,

Not wanting to do with the world that sings its silver heart

To please those who listen. I only have ears and my pale blue eyes -

My hands that do the talking while my eyes and ears see and hear.

Normal I may look but my past is razed – a skeleton of brittle remains,

For there was once a time when I could sing.

My story turned to ashes,

My face like an antique clock, archaic as a desolate island.

I look normal to others, but I am broken by time -

I am the girl who is silent.

Sudden plumes of fire interrupt the extensive, imprudent song,

The wind shatters into fragile defects of cracked whispers -

The time has come for my days to fall apart.

I close my eyes and wait for the familiar plumes of fire to

Consider me alive - neutral electricity shall do -

Yet the bittersweet results of my life depart.

The Darkness blinds me; I am lost in Its thick smog,

Tangled in Its firm grasp of thickened mist ... Brilliant light bruises

Its deadly dissonances that cower and flee; I don't think my eyes are set free.

A voice whispers my name that prods my mind, and I reluctantly see

What or who could possibly be calling to me.

A man, draped in red, with a smile of joy and reverent complicity,

Reaches His hand and pulls me up. I travel with Him as time flies by,

Swirling in streams that float in the world, a different sound so pretty

Than the one the earth sings; it is soft, jovial, and less rambunctious.

A palace fills my gaze from the tunnel of time and I swallow.

The man stained red turns and smiles at me.

He places a calloused hand on my mouth, and says, Tell me who you are.

He lets go, and I open my mouth ... and close it again, knowing my voice is rare.

He smiles, apparently knowing my grief, and says again, Tell me who you really are.

My throat hums, my tongue clicks, and out slip the words, I am Your daughter.

I laugh and cry - my voice has returned! How beautiful and honey-sweet it is to my ears.

I hug Him, and He laughs with me. In Heaven, He says, you, my dear,

Become perfect. From that moment on, in the fields and palace of Heaven,

I sing my golden heart all infinity long, my words carried on the voice of the wind

To all who are willing to hear:

My story has begun, in this place of eternity,

My face is renewed, glowing with natural light,

For the girl who was silent is no longer me:

I am the girl whose Father is He,

Who restored my voice and my hope back to me.