Poem: In His Head are Grand Voices

In His Head are Grand Voices
By Balisi-Bevilacqua

In his head are grand voices that never fall still,
They shout and whisper, they wound, and they will.
Each word is a thunder, each whisper a blade,
A symphony built on the fears he’s obeyed.

He walks down the street, and the people all stare,
Or so says the voice that is always aware.
The lampposts are cameras; the birds are not real.
The radio speaks secrets only he feels.

Behind every curtain is someone who spies,
Each glance is a riddle, each smile a disguise.
His heartbeat quickens, his breath becomes tight,
For even the sun seems to flicker with fright.

The neighbours are agents, the TV’s a code,
The mailbox is rigged, the hallways corrode.
At night, he locks doors not once but in rows,
Then checks all the windows before he can doze.

But sleep is no haven, no silence he finds,
The voices grow louder and fracture his mind.
They argue and mock, they threaten and tease,
They fill him with terror that never will cease.

He used to be bright, used to laugh, used to run,
But now he's a shadow that hides from the sun.
He speaks to the wind when no one is near,
And answers the echoes that feed on his fear.

They tell him he’s chosen, or cursed, or divine,
That poison is poured into his food and his wine.
That doctors are liars, the meds are just a trap,
To silence the truth that they hide in a map.

So pills go unbroken, untouched on the tray,
He trusts only voices that won’t go away.
His family weeps, but they don't understand—
To him, this chaos is carefully planned.

Each day is a battle, a war in his brain,
Between what is real and the pull of the strain.
He cries in the dark where no one can see,
And begs for a moment of simply being free.

The mirror reflects not the face he once knew,
But a stranger who trembles in paranoid blue.
He sees what’s not there, feels what isn’t said,
Lives haunted by ghosts who dance in his head.

He’s tired of running, of hiding from sound,
Of reading the threats in the cracks of the ground.
He longs for the silence he’s heard others find,
For peace from the storm that’s tearing his mind.

In his head are grand voices, relentless and loud,
They echo like thunder beneath a dark cloud.
But somewhere within him, a flicker remains—
A whisper of hope through the noise and the chains.

Perhaps there's a place where the torment will cease,
Where the mind finds its quiet, the soul its peace.
Until that day comes, he’ll keep holding tight—
A soldier of shadows who still dares the night.