Silence

April 3 2019

This silence feels more like a presence

than the absence of sound.

Because it is emptiness

we cannot abide,

our nervous energy spilling out

to fill the unbearable voids.

How the restless brain confabulates

in its dark noiseless skull.

And how we link effect and cause,

connect the dots

no matter what.

The high-pitched buzz

as the noise-injured ear

strains to hear.

The dead we swear we saw

in the grief of sudden loss.

The hollow

in the double bed

that keeps you up at night;

in fitful dreams

the touch you miss

as sleep slips in and out.

It's as if the silence here

had mass and dimension,

hovering over the forest

like a watchful presence

in the dark stillness of night.

As if the blackness between the trees

had absorbed all sound,

leaving only me

to disturb the precious peace.

Except silence is never complete.

A leaf rustling

an owl's muffled wings.

Hot blood

rushing past my ears

as my heart beats louder and louder.

And my lungs

rasping in and out

in long deep breaths.

Because among the living

there is no escape from sound.

The sturm und drang of nature

cacophony of man.

The deaf, who sense vibration,

as well as those who listen poorly

or only to themselves.

Even the dead

who once shouted, laughed, and cried

reverberate still;

because energy is conserved,

and their voices somehow survive

however unrecognizable.