What is silence? I think I know.
It is of the peace found in all nature,
It is of the appeal of crowds’ stature,
It is of everything lost and broken so.
Silence can’t be contained nor restrained.
It is written in the rain that invades empty streets,
And within the voids of an inflaming crowd,
And found where people and matter are in defeat.
Like bells do we chime merrily,
Or tolling and rolling forever on
But there It is, a hand outreached
That takes hold and we are halted in mid-song.
Like winds that mutter and let leaves slumber,
Or the straining and heaved gusts
Always the second to follow, It replaces
No questions, there it stands asunder
Where darkness prevails, there silence is
Where words are unwelcome, silence visits
Where there is failure, silence feasts
Where silence ceases, the lesser than a soul