Like a frog down a well
with a circumscribed view
we huddle at the bottom of the day
encapsulated within walls of time.
It is a sentence of weeks.
There are no options.
Each day breathes the residue
of the one before with the tastes
of fear and boredom
blended on a vigilant tongue.
We strain against each other
and retreat into futile silences.
Silence is the great
from which all comes forth
full of nothing
but emptiness and music.
Silence is like nothing we can speak of,
Silence is the heart of compassion
burning away in the crucible of love,
Silence is the way truth listens
Silence is the sun's light as we walk
through the middle earth.
Silence is the trust of child's smile.
Silence is without predicament, without need of permission
Silence is the fall from grace
returning to melt away the blue
as it forms around the mouth,
frozen with the last thought of an angry man.