The Cost of Silence

The Price of Numbness 

The muse is never silent 

The words are always flowing 

the pain 

the joy 

the ache 

the desire 

though not necessarily mine 

are ever present 

I can feel 

the bombardment— 

sometimes 

like violence 

in my soul 

until I can feel 

nothing else 

words 

demanding 

to be voiced 

Until— 

nothing 

At first 

it feels blessed 

a moment of peace 

a respite 

Until— 

Nothing 

Then concern 

then worry 

then panic 

The silence 

is deafening 

The stillness expands 

emptiness growing 

like an amputation 

of identity 

Who am I 

without words 

What remains 

of a life 

when the voice is gone 

What legacy 

survives silence 

Will I fade 

into numbness

Will I be swallowed whole 

by the quiet 

Only temporarily seen 

then dismissed 

from memory 

 

I roam 

like a beggar 

through crowded streets 

cup in hand 

begging 

for a feeling 

for an ache

for a word 

anything 

to prove 

I am still here 

© Ron Simpson Jr. 

May 12, 2026