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               The Sound of Silence Silence is complicated. It can be comfortable and companionable   like the silence between us now. We see others though, where silence rests heavily, as they seek speech to bridge the gap   of discomfort, which lies uneasily between them. We will not allow this silence space, Worse is the fear of a future silence, a cold space,   where we have nothing to say to each other. A silence where we are still together, but distant, remote, without feeling, drifting into our private spheres,   that we do not want to share. No touching warmth, but a place where we are unable to excite each other even with conversation. We know dangerous silences too, seething with an anger that pours from our closeness and expresses itself, tightly wound, as it passes through us. We communicate this only too effectively and may break ourselves, before this silent storm. Speech could not help us anyway, its violent word...
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https://www.magcloud.com/browse/issue/3356212?__r=8659367  
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  https://www.magcloud.com/browse/issue/3356212?__r=8659367
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 https://www.magcloud.com/browse/issue/3356212?__r=8659367
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  Apples Are Not The Only Fruit Apples are not the only fruit once forbidden but no more. And they come in a wider colour range than oranges without the dark side that came with Winterson. Now, even in Paradise all is well in the world of apples conspiring daily to keep the doctor away, just take a bite to begin. https://writingcafejournal.com/poem.php?slug=apples-are-not-the-only-fruit
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  Death of Empathy When empathy died the soldiers could dance in the streets they’d cracked wearing the underwear of the women whose homes they had destroyed. And dance they did with pride. When empathy was dead   the soldiers could take children’s toys from the rubble of their bombed homes and repurpose them as tank trophies mascots to be flaunted with pride while the street cracked under the weight. When they had killed empathy   the soldiers could shoot babies in the head or gut - they chose, and someone’s daughter 200 times,   or 300 - they could choose. And they filmed it with pride from the street’s rubble and cracks. When empathy was murdered the soldiers could capture children and imprison them in cages, one metre square, or whatever they chose until they told them   what they did not know and then laugh with pride in the smooth Israeli streets. When empathy was dead and buried deep down below the streets’ cracks and only silence could be heard Israel wa...
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  Imperfect It will never be the same again the broken pot knocked over it’s perfection destroyed, not beyond repair just forever imperfect patched up with little spaces left cracks where the light shines through. I thought I could recreate its magic perfect it anew repair it   with molten gold   and shining jewels that reflect the light make it perfect   in its imperfection leaving a few cracks to enhance its mystery. And light, carrying the past into the present. https://latinosenglishedition.blog/2026/07/05/poems-with-cracks-by-lynn-white/comment-page-1/#comment-13502