060615. Last poem of my teens.

” I can hear the silence
Between two diverging roads,
Whose stem is on its brink of
Breaking forth,
Splitting into half.

I can hear the utmost pounding
Of the heart,
Trying to break free from the ribs
Or rather the heavy breathings
That surrounded it.

I can hear you whisper a cold,
Catch a breath,
Cry inside, agonizing and groaning,
As the dawning of reality
Drowns you beneath waves.

I  can hear them all,
The unsaid and the unknown,
But I can do nothing here.
I’m already inanimate,
Unable to save some time.

For I am now a picture,
A memorabilia, a memoir,
A treasured gift that can only
Stand as memories, as
Finished products for you.

For that is my identity–
Stuck in the margins of yesterday.
No longer alive in you today,
An image that no longer exists, is
All you have left.

But listen, my dear, to the sounds inside you.
It isn’t a ghost, neither your illusions,
Perhaps it is the voice of love and hope
Finally speaking to you, telling you,
She is not yet dead.

And you are not giving up. “


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