Cycle of Silence
A voice spoke that was not hers.
Silenced in the charge of truth being able to be
Only that which is spoken.
Her truth is irrelevant, discounted
Rendered to an oddity,
Something ugly in a corner to be frowned on…
Then drowned out.
She’d sit there and look pretty but she’s not even enough for that.
Every thought marred by the words to come
Every action stifled
Until she stutters in speech and loses the steady hand.
Memories crowd in
The child again…
Thoughts pass unnoticed
The mind becomes fragments
Until no thoughts coherent enough can speak.
She once again is spoken for
Once to sparkle as stars.
Now its splinters lacerate from within.
© 2012 Tikarma Vodicka