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• Opinion > Current Events / Politics
  Psychology of a Murderer

  

  By Silent_Muse, Belle Mead, NJ

  Murderers spawn from the mind, not the soul, rendering them impossible to understand. Yet, society still struggles to comprehend their actions. What makes a man turn a gun to innocent, young children of an elementary school in Connecticut? Or any other place for that matter? The widely accepted evil...
• Poetry > All Poetry
  Education

  

  By Silent_Muse, Belle Mead, NJ

  A pernicious virus plagues The world we fail to know Bending our minds to dictators Who demand the impossible. Inevitable infections, vanquished vaccination Leaves us with but much to endure Under weight that fails to be locked away Back breaking, it is, back breaking, I say. An exponent...
• Fiction > Realistic Fiction
  Running Away

  

  By Silent_Muse, Belle Mead, NJ

  She wants to scream at them, and tell them that she is here, existing in front of their faces. Her voice constricts before she can get out a single word. The facts are lain out clearly in front of those who want to see. Nobody wants to see. They only want to look. She cannot articulate emotions. He...
• Poetry > All Poetry
  Rose Petal Dance

  

  By Silent_Muse, Belle Mead, NJ

  Water rushes pass my ears wind rushes upon my back with wild vigor and rose petals leap to be nominal saviors I sing with it all Without moving my lips, a melody of sweetness and pensive lost in decay upon my audience’s ears. Splashing in the water are the naïve little tadpoles fluttering ...
• Poetry > Free Verse
  Hush.

  

  By Silent_Muse, Belle Mead, NJ

  Whispers Tingle up my spine, conducive to give away My secret. Hush Before pristine becomes culpable And the eyes that pinpoint souls Begin to dart unconsciously. Hush As the night falls into the earth’s abyss And everlasting light becomes fatal So we must shield ourselves from revelatio...
• Fiction > Fan Fiction
  He was a Man

  

  By Silent_Muse, Belle Mead, NJ

  He was a man. His body had arms, legs, hands, and feet. His face was handsome and alluring, his actions were performed without error, a consummate art. And the mind controlling them had a kind of power hungry discernment, a dangerous but perspicacious machine. The gears and teeth meshed in harmony. ...
• Poetry > Free Verse
  The Girl in the Paper

  

  By Silent_Muse, Belle Mead, NJ

  On this wooden bench, sitting among standing waves of people soar by this silence of screeching metal needles imprinted in skin, etched in flesh. I see a faded gray girl on a torn sheet of soul, not a trace of red. She stares at me, past all those trivialities— her eyes are black orbs with...