It was by unfortunate cirumstances that I loved the silence.

In its glory, I was allianced.

I loved writiting of nonsensical things,

to block out the inevitable rumors and screams.

Word after word, day after day,

until, at last, the silence came.

With the silence protruded a still,

and all the loud noise was suddenly killed.

As if I was deaf, though hardly the case,

the world around me became a quieter place.

I learned to listen only when asked,

and limit the drama and talk of the past.

Of course this decision came with sacrifice,

no longer was I a "friend" on any set price.

Poems and words replaced the dead,

and a life of soliloquy I soon had lead.

It wasn't disheartening in the slightest,

it was the peak of my youth and quickly the brightest.

I didn't need people to cry or lie to,

I learned how to cope without the slightest miscue.

I loved the company of silence, and treated it with care,

while pondering all along why I was in such dispare.

Once, long ago, I dreaded not knowing

how I could blend in with the life of easy going.

To try and be popular was almost a sickness,

but now I know I am one with the wilderness.

I have family and stories to show me a bright side,

but the silence of words has me proccupied.

 

If I could live with one thing only,

it would be the silence of being a lonely.