The Silence




There is something about silence;

Something empty, something sad, something

Like a hand, reaching out, fingers stretching,

Touching nothing but the void.

There is something about silences that is maddening;

Like an empty glass that quench no thirst.

Like a longing, like a wanting,

The good-night kiss that never came

And then it was day time again.

There is something about your silence

That is breaking pieces of my heart,

Like a door shut in anger, like being left –no- kicked out,

Like reaping a child’s card, drawn with wax crayons and glitter.

There is something about my silence that tastes like death.

Like giving up the struggle a few meters from the shore,

Like surrendering to the great blue sea and sinking in,

Deep into oblivion, too tired to fight back, to

Believe in second chances.

There is something about this silence that seems like a tomb.

Like crumbling books, and ending Sundays, and abandoned

Birthday tables, cream roses melting in the heat, no one

Ready to clean the mess. No one ready to accept defeat.

And I wonder if our silence is the white flag erected amidst

The battle field, or just a truce, a time to go back

And redraw plans, lick wounds, light candles of hope against hope.

A silence created so you can hear the echo of my soul, calling you.



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