Peace Poetry at Paper Poetry
The Price of Believing
Not every silence brings peace
So it usually ends like this?
Where a storm once been,
there is now a whisper,
A void where laughter resided,
A lesson ingrained in my being,
while they leave unharmed and untarnished.
Will life teach me this again and again?
To trust, to hope, to open my hands,
only to have them emptied,
only to hear that my suffering
is just a result of their peace,
that distance was kindness,
and that stillness was mercy.
And what about mine?
In this state of chaos, where can I find peace?
What can I do to calm the storm?
Will my heart ever stop asking questions,
yearning for truth it will never have?
Are the emotions too loud and the hurt too great?
Does anyone else dwell in the ruins but me?
Having questions that none want to answer,
Being overpowered by the weight of unsaid words?
Did I matter, or was I only a fleeting,
convenient, and departable thing?
Will I always learn this way?
By misreading footprints for roots,
by believing people when they express concern,
and then watching them disappear
as soon as things get too real?
How many times will I let myself
believe that this bond,
this person, will be different this time?
Will I now live like this?
Too wary, too aloof, too scared to put the faith in?
If every bond comes with an expiration date,
if kindness is simply borrowed and never possessed,
then what good is it to give myself at all?
They say that peace can be found within,
but all I find is noise, unsolved questions,
memories that won’t fade,
and a heart too weak to continue
learning lessons it never requested.
They often say that pain makes you stronger,
but what if I’m just weak?
What if I’d rather not have another scar,
another ghost, or another lesson?
What if all I want is for someone to stick by me —
to guard me the way I guarded them?
Still, isn’t it really the true lesson?
that the only one who stays is myself,
and that I shouldn’t hope or trust.
So I bear this void, this pain, this quiet,
and I look for a peace that doesn’t feel alone.
Does it usually end like this?
Perhaps.
And perhaps I won’t make the mistake of believing otherwise the next time.
I written this poem in response to Paper Poetry’s prompt: peace.
