The Highschool Box

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Untitled # 3

Cryptic messages forming in my mind. But they are inexpressible when I look others in the eye.

The words are on my tongue, but it is strangely silent.

The others smile nervously and my soul begins to ache.

I wish they could understand, but I can’t explain.

The message will not let me speak, although it screams to be said.

The silence is awkward because the message pounds in my head.

Quietly, the others turn and walk away.

They bid farewell and I begin to drown.

My soul beats within this shell and cries louder than before.

Tears of frustration well, but my eyes are dry.

Deaf ears pass me by and louder are my cries.

Blind eyes study my pain-stricken face and turn to a more joyful place.

The message subsides and another opportunity to share it slips away into a plane I have yet to find.

B.W. Harold

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