Silence — A poem in prose

SilenceSilence. Or some whisperless part.

The place between the ringing in the left ear and the ringing in the right, punctuated by the violent first gust of warm air through the heat ducts, crossed by a barking dog, then left.

In silence.

Scary. What falls in behind the quiet, lurks, drives us, needs to be examined, yet resists examination.

Sit. Let scary silence bring forth that which shrinks so in the light of day. Demons, yet not. Derived from a place of unknowing, ununderstanding. The stuff of yesterday, not now. Needs purging, doesn’t belong. Held too close, now inside. Trapped by perpetual distraction.

Must leave.

Because in silence lay germs of new growth, creativity, sunshine. Blessed expansion of today into tomorrow, unfettered by dingy dustballs of fears gone past. Silence, no words, just self, spirit, light, dance, day, night, starlight. So much more to be explored.

Found by letting be.

No words, no sound, no blasted cacophony of misconnected bleeps and volumes brings forth fear in the belly the same as stillness. And so, we distract. Disconnect. Lurk in the shared lives of others. Cat memes and political soliloquies shielding us from the layer that blocks us from the best there is.

Years go by and the brothers and sisters to the left and right fall in significance to the chips in the hand, guardians, but not. Comfort, not really.

Belly forgets to flip as heart forgets to warm, for long.

We survive, but don’t live. Move, but don’t grow. Go, but unmoved.

Silence, kept at arm’s length, true friend feared, ignored, stands ever present, keys in hand, neglected.

Resolution: let it be.

Trust: it’s okay.

Memories: encoded in DNA, powerless, really.

Now: silence.

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