The Listeners

May 10, 2017
By , Franklin, TN

The quiet isn’t nothing, it’s something that isn’t there
If you listen closely you can hear, if you listen too close you can’t stop
The listeners we are called, the ones who don’t talk
The ones who are questioned, stalked as they walk
Listening to the nothing, waiting for something

I wish to tell them, I really do
The ones who want, to know the truth
The ones who wonder why we persist
For the mysterious, sweet, kiss of silence
Beware of the silent, be scared by the silence
It’s a deep... dark... abyss, and once you’ve fallen
Be careful not to obsess, it is hard most cannot contest
I have slipped and fallen, landing hard on the emptiness
Praying for someone who can release the stress
Praying for someone to understand the unrest

The listeners we are called, the ones who don’t talk
The ones who are questioned, stalked as they walk
Listening to the nothing, waiting for something

Silence tells the stories, of those who are unwilling
Emptiness upon a face, hiding itself in a shroud of nothingness
All who wonder, confused by the art, will never truly be apart
Apart of the pact of petrified prisoners
Scared of the others, scared of each other
If you're apart you know, if you're not, it’s too late
We all have a certain time and date
The sweet bitter end awaits us all
That’s when you may join again

The listeners we are called, the ones who don’t talk
The ones who are questioned, stalked as they walk
Listening to the nothing, waiting for something

Never truly are you alone, never truly is there silence
Yourself by your side, defying the quieting
Your mind, always talking, rambling on and on
About who you love, what you want, what happens when you are gone
The way to achieve total quiet, you must hear nothing but it
There is no evidence, you just follow the voice hence, into complete and utter silence

The listeners we are called, the ones who don’t talk
The ones who are questioned, stalked as they walk
Listening to the nothing, waiting for something

We are call antisocial, we are called introverts
Those of us who hide what makes us hurt
Who hide what lies beneath, below the stone and concrete
But really that isn't the case we just prefer not to make haste
We choose to conceal how we feel for fear of what happens
When one lets go what, of what they care about and know

The listeners we are called, the ones who don’t talk
The ones who are questioned, stalked as they walk
Listening to the nothing, waiting for something

Just sit, just wait, just think about it
How often have you heard sound of quiet
The sound of nothing, it’s a rare thing to witness
If you listen long enough, you become one of us
If you listen long enough, you become one we trust
We listen to hear, we listen not to hear
The struggles, drama, and fear, that bottle us up in society
Born an outcast because of my own priorities

The listeners we are called, the ones who don’t talk
The ones who are questioned, stalked as they walk
Listening to the nothing, waiting for something

Used at the disposal of those around us
Don’t be wary, for it’s not your fault
We take commands, unless told to halt
Halt our quiet crusade for the cure
The silent brings us in like a lure
The trick is, silence is that cure, for the scared and lonely
Hiding behind it’s safety assured

The listeners we are called, the ones who don’t talk
The ones who are questioned, stalked as they walk
Listening to the nothing, waiting for something
Something that won’t come, so we sit and wait, silent... and awake…
Don't go searching for the silent revenant
Thus you will become a permanent resident
Once you have been taken the end is near lies
Until the final rest when we have all passed by






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