a poem with no title
forgotten in a drawer
in a room where a boy once dreamed
of planes on the blue sky and boats on the infinite sea
in a house where once there was no silence
now there is nothing but.
someone told him
dreams don’t come true
and the sea is not infinite,
but forever too big for him to ever understand it
and his father bought him his first suit
it was still too loose,
but you’ll grow into it.
in the pockets there was no space for dreams
so he left them under his pillow
and at the bottom of the drawer.
sometime between then and now
they suffocated to death
just maybe the monsters under the bed
chocked them until helplessly they seized to exist
no one was there to hear their screams
but in the bottom of a drawer
in a room empty except for an old mattress and a washed-out suit
in a house that was no longer home
empty with the silence and the memories of children laughing
of the television on during dinner
of the oven telling us lunch was ready
of a baby crying
of the relieved sigh of mom after everyone had finally fallen asleep
in a neighborhood with too many noisy houses
for anyone to notice this one was silent
in that drawer
in that room
in that house
in that neighborhood
in that city
in that country
in this finite infinite world
there was hope.
a poem with no title
from a time when there was noise
and the sea was still infinite
and the monsters under the bed hadn’t been convicted of murder just yet
and silence
and a poem with no title
and with a little bit of hope
and silence.