If I knew,
That my goodbye would be stolen,
By the silence that is
I never would have been your friend
If I saw,
You treat me as an outcast
Like I was an easy page to turn
I never would have looked at you twice
And if I envisioned these tears,
Tears because of your doing,
That pelt my face every night
I never would have let you see my soul
There’s nothing as worrisome
As a quiet fellow
And even more so,
A quiet poet, who has been hurt.
The days go by, and he stays mute
And it’s his silence that utters,
That all is not in tune.
A quiet poet, who sharpens his literary sword.
The time is nearing, and soon you will know,
When the words pierce you in the heart
From the haunting silence, which was
And now is a poem, firing warning shots!
This is the poet, when you meet quiet.
bowendiaries 