The whisperers whispering

Willow tendrils in the wind

They wisp in and out of subconsciousness

A plague of the unseen

They harry and harass, poke and prod

Applaud my embarrassment

Fiends of over-confidence

I would tear them from my skull

Crush, perhaps, even caress

Turn their whispering upon themselves

If I could, I would, but can’t

They skitter behind tired eyes

Tug on earlobes

Venture down an aching spine

Like the shiverers they are

Cold breaths of the not yet dead

They’re killing me


Without kindness

And so I beg

Shout in silence

Plead with eyes, not voice


The reality, truth

Misunderstood, I appear normal

Perhaps, too normal

For no matter how much I pray

Scream with my an inside voice

I realise to others

They, like me

Are inaudible


17 thoughts on “Inaudible

  1. I love this Richard, it is one of those poems I wish I had on paper, there is something about the screen that steals so much from such powerful pieces with so many metaphors. I feel the same when I publish poems online. This is such an amazing poem, it needs time, it deserves time, to be read in dusk by a candle.

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