The Talking Stopped

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