Her silent cacophony

Everyone admires her calmness, her tranquility. In reality, they want her silent and stillness personality. They were afraid of her voice, capable enough to defeat their lies. She was a stone once, capable enough to bring ripples in the river. Now she is just a feather, quite unsubstantial, flowing with the flow of the river. Now she is tired. Nobody knows that she holds back her silence in the mayhem of this community. She lost the symphony of her words into the sound of this cacophony. Now, she can’t trust herself to bear the burden of her broken silence. She is frightened and anxious. She cries but silently, she thinks but quietly, she talks but mutely. Her infinite and default vitality is covered by the heap of fictitious axioms, impeding her value of thoughts. Now she has to admire the beauty, the bogus beauty of the mankind, the beauty which is still not attained. She has to agree on everything, every wicked lie to persist her enforced symphony, a symphony which is a lie to her given by the society. 

Now, she is the regent of symphony which came at the cost of her silent cacophony.

Via daily prompt: cacophony