To Know Quiet

He holds out for hope
Like a noose around his throat,
Or a bullet in a gun
Aimed at himself,
Where does quiet come from?

He stuffs tsunamis and hurricane winds
Into his brain
To wash away the chatter
Of voices and memories
Anchoring him
To a past stained in guilt
Caught in the hue of
So much hurt.

He begs storms to rise
And the oceans to rage,
Wanting nothing
More than to be swept away
In a baptism
He won’t rise up from.

He wants no pity.
No freedom from the shame.
Only the words
To tell his story.
Only the perfectly painted image
Of the shattered reflection
He sees in the mirror.

He wants you to understand
Houses reflect their foundations
And he is a house
Built upon landmines.

He wants to believe
That if he can tell you
His story,
He might be freed
From the so much noise,
And finally
Know the sound of quiet.

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