Here's to the Strength of Silence
Mmmm...prose poetry. What a beautiful bastardization of two of the finest writing techniques the world.
Here's to the strength of silence.
We know we are here. You do, too, but, sometimes, you do not realize it. In the times you need us most, we are always there and, in those times, you see us and lean on us for the support you know we will always give. It has always been so, that our deepest friends go largely unnoticed in our own lives - the superficiality of the rest of the world begs a materialistic approach to all things so strongly that it bleeds to all aspects of our personality. It is not a flaw - it simply is.
Indeed, you know us - we appear of our own volition when you are in need, offering support that would never be asked for. Not because you do not desire support, no, but because you would not remember. In the devastation of the moment, in the joy of the instant, in the tears of forever, our undying support lies forgotten in the sands of eternity like so many shells in the aftermath of a hurricane. And yet, like the hidden beauty of those shells, when dusted off, our devotion shines brightly as ever. It always will.
Who are we? The unsung heroes of the lives of others. Where recognition fails, where notice falls just short, and where acknowledgement leaves waiting in the dank background, there we stand. Mistake not, we do not desire acknowledgement - we seek no greater solace than that we help when we are needed, and that you know, through the shadows of your dusttrail, that we wait to offer our shoulder, our hand, our thoughts, our cares, and our voices to yours once more. As constant as the cyclic changing of the seasons, we will always be wherever you need us, whenever you need us.
Hm. Interesting. If I learned anything in 306, it was not to keep a poem going just to keep it going, and that one ended right where I meant it to, apparently.
Here's to the strength of silence.
We know we are here. You do, too, but, sometimes, you do not realize it. In the times you need us most, we are always there and, in those times, you see us and lean on us for the support you know we will always give. It has always been so, that our deepest friends go largely unnoticed in our own lives - the superficiality of the rest of the world begs a materialistic approach to all things so strongly that it bleeds to all aspects of our personality. It is not a flaw - it simply is.
Indeed, you know us - we appear of our own volition when you are in need, offering support that would never be asked for. Not because you do not desire support, no, but because you would not remember. In the devastation of the moment, in the joy of the instant, in the tears of forever, our undying support lies forgotten in the sands of eternity like so many shells in the aftermath of a hurricane. And yet, like the hidden beauty of those shells, when dusted off, our devotion shines brightly as ever. It always will.
Who are we? The unsung heroes of the lives of others. Where recognition fails, where notice falls just short, and where acknowledgement leaves waiting in the dank background, there we stand. Mistake not, we do not desire acknowledgement - we seek no greater solace than that we help when we are needed, and that you know, through the shadows of your dusttrail, that we wait to offer our shoulder, our hand, our thoughts, our cares, and our voices to yours once more. As constant as the cyclic changing of the seasons, we will always be wherever you need us, whenever you need us.
Hm. Interesting. If I learned anything in 306, it was not to keep a poem going just to keep it going, and that one ended right where I meant it to, apparently.