The Sound of Silence
The ripples of pain we feel
When we hear nothing at all.
Why is it said that silence is golden?
Silence is iron when it rusts
And it takes form as a dagger
That impales you,
And you feel every jag rip from your core,
And you bleed out,
Slowly,
As you wait for a word to be said;
Reassurance,
Solidarity,
Anything to make the pain
Go away or understandable.
Instead, you remain desperate,
In anticipation,
Counting the seconds in between sighs,
As if it is a type of code
That you can uncover.
Why is it we have the constant fear,
Of hearing things that hurt us,
When not hearing things at all,
Can be just as devastating
Than any word
That can be said.