silence

the dust floats in the air,
suspended in time forever
lost to the cheering crowds,
adrenaline fades in empty rooms,
painted teardrops liquify
on pale white sheets
a bottomless echo of an angel,
shadows taunt gold medals
until rusted metal stains your lips
against a backdrop of hunger and love,
a monster stirs,
a parasite in your beating heart,
you feel nothing but alone
in a roaring tide
there is no sound.

i’m sure you’ve seen on my blog, more than once, poems about fame and what i feel is the accompanying emptiness. it seems to be one of the saddest paradoxes i’ve encountered. i often wonder about the singers who pour their hearts out on the stage, who love what they do and who enjoy the crowds – what do they feel when they are alone? just sitting in bed, being an ordinary person in the house – what do they think about? do they feel alone and empty? do they feel that music is the only thing that shapes who they are, and without this music, especially in a pandemic with NO concerts, who are they?

and this doesn’t just apply to singers, of course. it applies to everyone who enjoys fame and all the burdens and benefits that accompany it. i obviously don’t know about it because i’ve never experienced it. but from what i have seen and what i have heard, it sounds like a double-edged sword that only few are equipped to handle.

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