A Quiet Life
My world is so quiet, only silence heard,
only nostalgia recalls the spoken word.
Tell me now, does the blackbird still sing?
the bee is unheard but I can feel it's sting.

I'm like a goldfish, confined to a bowl,
my eyes can see all but I can't hear a soul.
The only language that I understand,
are the signs made by an educated hand.

I can see leaves dance in a muted breeze,
I can sing a sad song whenever I please.
A downfall of raindrops bring me no fears,
I hear nought, they might well be tears.

This part of my world has quietly died,
I cannot read lips though yes I have tried.
Contorted hands spell out words I know,
not quite as loud as gently falling snow.

Silence is not golden, I long much to hear,
words and songs from those I hold dear.
I must come to terms with talking hands,
I've no choice, it's what deafness demands.

PS, Dedicated to those who like myself are deaf as posts.

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