The Sound of Pain

This is the sound of pain.
A rose’s stem being torn,
The echo of an unanswered call
Down a vacant hallway

This is the sound of pain.  
The kind of hurt that
Condenses you until there’s nothing
Left but your core.  Your essence.
And you realize that core is nothing
But a huddled mass of tears.  Of weakness.

This is the sound of pain.  
A book’s binding finally giving way,
The whisper of the untouched side
Of the bed that’s always empty.

This is the sound of pain.
A bell’s toll that never fades,
The soft scratch of a pencil whispering
Its way across a page
Speaking words that no one will ever hear,
The sealing of an envelope
That will never be sent.

This is the sound of pain.
Their cries, their shrieks, their tears,
A silence so complete it is
The absence of all else.
This is the sound of pain.