Eyes failing, desperate struggle, one more minute

Closed eyes
It all rushes past
That calm anchor
Watching as the real flows in small streams
Each strand making the river
Each moments tumult
Paint splatter cascades down
Around the hollow
Each minute a new reality
Past broken down
Just this sound
Tongue twist
Gurgle and burble
Faster and faster
Until all that’s different
Is that steady hush
Ever present
Over the long silence

That moment before the tuning fork stops

We do a lot of things to make sure we aren’t left in silence
Silence which fills us
Or leaves us stranded in echos
We watch TV or Twitch
We listen to music, but shy away from the sounds which will evoke emotions
We play games
We work
Anything and everything to fall asleep exhausted
Another day passed by
Not thinking
Sometimes the frenzy is a good thing
Keeping us from repeating bad choices
But still
That silence cannot be run from forever
And we find ourselves trapped by memories
Or lies our brains tell us
Or what society wants from us
The silence is not the enemy
It’s just the space where we get the time to just be
And all that else comes crashing down and drowns us
Because we dam it away
Hold it outside of ourselves
Until handling it becomes drowning in a sea of discordancy
So we run
We run and hide
It’s why writers and poets drink
Because we are the sanity impaired who seek out the quiet
It’s the only place we get a chance to see
And eventually we walk in less water
And eventually we sit at low ebb
And we lament not drowning, because we installed a safety valve
But we remember
We see
We know that quiet
The best of us are guides
The rest refugees
But still,
Take a moment with your silence
It only wants you to see
If only some things could not be unseen

Bittersweet Joy

A tension in the sussura,
Murmurs, Conversations in the quiet
Too low to be heard too loud to be ignored
Proud but not confident

Sing to me of inhibition
Of choices not taken
Chances not chanced and hopes not hoped
Breathe me in your minutes

Borne of the differences,
Joy in the turning
Song threads
Piercing, hollow, hallowed heart

Sing to me of beginnings
Of songs ending
Of the quiet

Sing and in silence
Lost voice
Lost dream in the turning

Trembling hand reaches forth

What hope in silence
In deep quiet of the early hours
Hopes and truths
Whirl point to counterpoint
All come round
To too silent reverie
And salt trails betraying
A heart too full to break

Make peace in silence
When choice and time
Makes decision and endeavor
In collusion bound
Hand and hand
Round voices raised
In absolution

Worth more than pain
But ground down
By disappointments
In stillness
Still awaiting word

Sentinel, whose tears dry
And make flesh tight
Drying passage marking place
Accept and know
An oath, once given, cannot be rescinded

So, in acceptance, stand
In the deep heart of mourning


They say that a creature of silence is the most beautiful.
Or is it, merely, that their silence shows a reflection that is pleasing.
That the speaker sees the silence as reflection
But silence is a deep well.
And those that are silent may instead be drowning in their own words.
And so are silent.

Or in obverse
drink your words like ambrosia
bereft of their own to speak truths
Instead your truths become theirs.
Or creep like a shadow following prey.
In silence, simply wait.

Silence consumes.
Self, speaker, or prey.
that darkling draw
like a fire
Burning away the mists.

Haunting Silence

There is a truth to be had in silence
In her silence, in mine
It’s easier to be silent
To let time slip by in the hope that it will solve things
One way or another
But time is a funny thing
It doesn’t yield solutions
It only brings opportunity and choices
I’ll always choose you
And so, I am not silent
And I say that I choose you
And I wait, with trepidation, for you to end silence
Fearing that you won’t
Fearing that you will

Sound gives

Cacophony gives voice to silence. Gives it wings to fill the empty spaces, it whirls and eddies, sliding into place unbidden, nightmare and night walking hand in hand, simple in the silences. My darling silence in the silver river of dreams. Woken to the rattle, rolling of bones. Dripping from tongue and fingertips pressed deep into flesh, holding on lest the whirl pull you away, my silence. Unbidden I am free, though I cling to you my tempest.  Sugar honeyed silence, taste and tasting. Illusions are the most tempting vices.