Tears of the Silenced
In the halls where daylight falters,
Shadows collect like memories,
Each one a testament, a whisper,
Of those whose voices never soared—
Quiet as moths against glass,
Soft as rain on a midnight street.
Beneath the gentle hush of morning,
The world’s machinery groans on,
Unmindful of the silent plea
Pressed between the pages of routine.
There, sorrow weaves its silver thread
Through hearts left waiting, unheard.
I. The Gathering Silence
We gather in muted corners,
A congregation of unsaid words,
Our eyes laden with stories
No wind dares sweep away.
We are the leftover notes of a song
Written in a language of longing—
A tapestry of sighs,
Embroidered with invisible pain.
The tears of the silenced fall unseen,
Not for want of sorrow,
But for want of a witness.
They glisten in the dark,
Little lanterns of truth
That burn beneath the surface,
Illuminating what cannot
Be spoken aloud.
II. The Memory of Sound
Once, the world was thunderous—
A cascade of laughter,
A torrent of argument,
A river of shared dreams.
But silence is a patient sculptor;
It chisels away at the edges
Of what might have been,
Leaving only the outline
Of a voice.
In the stillness,
Memory becomes a sanctuary.
We nestle in the soft folds
Of remembered words,
Their meaning unspoiled
By the world’s indifference,
Their echoes a gentle balm
For bruised spirits.
III. The Weight of Unsaid Things
There are words that ache to be spoken—
Truths as fragile as spring petals,
Grievances heavy as autumn stones,
Hope as bright as a new dawn.
Yet the silenced bear the weight
Of unuttered confession,
Shoulders bowed beneath
The burden of unshared grace.
We watch the world move on,
Its promises like distant bells
Ringing in some far-off place
Where courage blooms more freely.
Our own resolve is a quiet thing,
More enduring for its restraint,
More noble for its invisibility.
IV. A Landscape of Hidden Tears
The tears of the silenced seep into the soil,
Nourishing dreams that sleep beneath the surface.
They do not flood the fields,
Nor carve valleys in their grief.
Instead, they mingle with the roots
Of secret gardens,
Where wildflowers grow unbidden
From sorrow’s fertile ground.
Here, in this hidden landscape,
A thousand voices murmur
Among the petals and the leaves.
Their stories twist skyward
With silent elegance,
Painting the dawn with hope
That refuses to be quelled.
V. When Silence Breaks
There comes a day when silence shatters—
When the world briefly remembers
To listen for the quiet ones.
Their tears, collected like dew,
Sparkle on the edge of sunlight,
A prism refracting dignity
Long denied.
In the clarity of morning,
A single voice rises
From the hush.
It trembles with memory,
With pain, with healing,
And the world, at last,
Pauses in its ceaseless motion
To hear the truth
That patience has forged
And solitude has refined.
VI. The Legacy of the Silenced
The silenced do not vanish
Simply because they are unheard.
Their legacy endures
In the kindness of strangers,
In the resilience of the wounded,
In the artistry of the unacknowledged,
And the wisdom of the overlooked.
Every tear is a seed
That waits for gentle rain—
A promise that, one day,
The world might learn to listen
With eyes as open as the sky
And hearts as deep as the sea.
VII. Epilogue: A Prayer for Courage
Let us speak for those who cannot,
Let us bear witness to their truth.
Let our own voices be lanterns,
Guiding the lost through midnight halls.
For in the tears of the silenced
Lies a reservoir of strength—
A power that endures
Beyond despair and indifference.
May the world one day
Turn its gaze to the quiet
And find, shining through
The veil of hush,
The indomitable light
Of every soul
Whoever wept unseen.
---
Slowly, patiently,
The tears of the silenced
Shape rivers beneath stone,
Carving passageways
For hope to flow.
And though silence may linger,
Its reign is never absolute—
For in the end,
Even the quietest voice
Can awaken the dawn.
© Carol Anne Johnson
Carol Anne Johnson is in her mid-40s. She is blind and was diagnosed with dissociative identity disorder and complex PTSD. She is also a survivor of child abuse. She enjoys writing poetry and reading, walking, and volunteering. You can follow her on her blog, http://therapybits.com/.
