I think I equate scilence with death. Can't stand it. If their is no music to be had I whistle!
Just beyond the last story
The last joke.
The guests go home
The host goes to bed
The refrigerator hums
A roach whispers
Across the linoleum
In the dark.
And the silence sits
Patiently in the dark
Waiting for things to quiet down.
The silence was there in the beginning
And when everyone
And everything
Has had their say
It will be there at the end.
The world turns majestically
In the silence of space
That stretches to
The farthest star
This island of sound.
The singing bird,
The crying baby,
The laughing youth,
The tubercular cough of an old man
Lost and alone
In a sea of silence.
Poetry by Budart
Read 793 times
Editors' choice
Written on 2012-04-04 at 05:17
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The Silence
The silence is always out there.Just beyond the last story
The last joke.
The guests go home
The host goes to bed
The refrigerator hums
A roach whispers
Across the linoleum
In the dark.
And the silence sits
Patiently in the dark
Waiting for things to quiet down.
The silence was there in the beginning
And when everyone
And everything
Has had their say
It will be there at the end.
The world turns majestically
In the silence of space
That stretches to
The farthest star
This island of sound.
The singing bird,
The crying baby,
The laughing youth,
The tubercular cough of an old man
Lost and alone
In a sea of silence.
Poetry by Budart
Read 793 times
Editors' choiceWritten on 2012-04-04 at 05:17
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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