Mind of a Poet #18

It is within the silence that my voice is heard the most. There is no added clarity or crisp tone because of the lack of interference but more specifically; in my silence I am heard the most. I am learned, pondered over, and internally questioned simply because I am silent. Those that never met me, never will, nor will the attempt be made by either of us. My voice is something, a privilege to hear because not every person actually hears my voice. My mind can be read and my words as well but do those people hear the tone of my voice? Do they hear the true honesty, the anxiety, the pain in the midst of strength, is it possible they hear all of those things? My theme has been surviving is not living. Surviving is dying, not at full speed but faster than living. Going through one moment to the next second wondering how are you going to stay alive for another day. Maybe survival is all there is and I am wrong but I don’t believe it is.

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