Poem – The things we don’t speak of

From my journal, 2011

And you want to know
about the things we don’t speak of
the places
only the mad ones go
that world is an island
we always walk alone

there is no speaking of it
who am I to break the silence?
to admit to agony
to betray my loneliness

if I only could
I would take you there
I would meet you there
where the light is orange
and the shadows breathe

if I only could
I would walk those streets forever
and you would hear my song
come in through the windows
closed against the night

you would meet me here
and there would be no words
or need for words
in that night there is only
the language of tears
and of touch.

See more like this:
Coming home
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