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THE TALKING STOPPED I reach down inside and pull out my still heart It hasn’t beaten since the day the talking stopped I feel my soul sink deeper into the Earth as it cries Once more I say to this blank screen, “Why am I here?” Paper knows my pain because the ink tells it my story Sad, I know how it feels to die before you’re dead Cousins and lovers wonder why I act so alone now Did I say I was the rain cloud over your head? No I’ve drowned you in free air and great love, pure thoughts Did you think I hated you? Did you think I love nothing? I love nothing anymore, not since the talking stopped! I’m depressed and I’m angry and I’m drinking drunk Would you see me drown in stale ale from the corner pub? Could I make it down to the Dalva Bar and patch my scars? Flesh stinks of men’s impurity and cruel stains of love expired My mind numbs with each sip of the cup’s lovely kiss God I wish I could pray for you to come back But I had to go and denounce faith, denounce you The talking stopped, when will it start again? Could it again? Would my heart feel a pulse hug it, if your mouth moved? Did you do this to yourself or will I have a part in it? Will I be blamed for silence so tarnished by deaf ears? What shines, what buys is the thought of an angry voice Or a happy scream, a distraught shout, any damned or holy sound! I’m listening for foot steps and I hear them, but still I hear That the talking has stopped, gone to an echo of hope Dear angels bring the talking back, bring my love back! -poet Darká |