There is a cruelty in the silence of one,
Adored and desired which extends,
Beyond the hurt of cheating or of lies.
For they are human failings, simple flaws,
To be forgiven and the path refound.
Yet silence bleeds into the consciousness,
Tears at the fibers tying soul to soul,
Slowly awakening doubt of self and worth,
Until there is no soil from which to grow.
It is the giving of a thousand deaths.
The breaking of belief and hopes and dreams.
It is the cruelest form of self protection,
To watch another twisting in the breeze,
To make them chose the things you can’t,
In order to preserve the little dignity they have.
This game is not a choice but is a trial,
Of how far you can push another’s life,
Before you hear the snap of tearing sinew,
Oh would that you would only use a knife.
For silence is no scalpel but a bludgeon,
It scars more than you have a right to scar,
And while in silent judgement you sit waiting,
Another soul is dying for your words.
But this is all a game of confirmation,
You want to call them bastard when they walk,
But secretly you know that you are safe.

Safe from the danger of true living,
Of having to accept that you have worth.
Safe from it being any more than dreaming,
Safe from the risk of ever being hurt.
So keep your silence it no longer scares,
It’s teeth plucked out you’ll find that I will wait,
Until you chose to speak or else will fester,
But I will not be the one so you can hate.
For I have met this place and known it’s power,
Have been the one to listen to the lie,
Of how I left and wasn’t understanding,
To be spoken of with anger for self lies.
So speak fair cherub, speak your need,
The power to be free is in your hands,
Or remain in silence ever and be loved,
By one who sees the worth beneath self lies.



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