You ask me why I am silent,
well, it's because I am worried about death.
Your death, my death, the end of it all.
I am silent because the tune
of that distant song
that's travelled through space till it's barely a hum,
is so vaguely familiar...
it forms a bubble in my chest.
It floats up bobbing in cheeky uncertainty.
I'll wait impatiently for that bubble to pop so that I can play that song and fill this space with it.
It won't be quite so silent then.
But it never has been all that silent.
Don't you feel that weight in the air?
Hear it's squeaky, shuffling struggle?
I've been trying to hide it from you
but surely you've clocked it by now.
It's burdened with all the worries
that couldn't fit in my head.
Worries about me, worries about you and worries about how this will all end.
How the summer will begin
and stretch on endlessly
till it won't anymore
and I'll pine for it in the winter.
(I apologise for the pun)
I'm sorry I'm so silent.
I have just too much to say
and I'm scared it will come out, all at once
in a disturbing, guttural groan.
I have too many questions,
that I'm scared
you'll have to turn the world over stone by stone
to answer them.
And I have too many gaps in my knowledge of myself
and they translate into awkward pauses
that take up more energy than I can spare.
But mostly I am silent
because it often says more, more eloquently than I ever can.
The visceral, incommunicable, intuitive truth
that lives in every one of us
and can be heard humming
when the world isn't too loud.
It's saying I'm going to die, you're going to die and it's all going to end
so, why not sit silently till tomorrow again?
Picture Credits - https://pixabay.com/photos/soap-bubble-bubble-reflection-6626763/
Commenti