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 Posted: Tue Sep 15, 2009 6:39 pm
Silence, diconcerting,
Sometimes hurting.
Painful in one way or another,
Is sometimes our form of cover.
Silent death with silent funeral,
Silence covering every corner.
The coroner in his room,
Silent was the order.
Silently we walk,
Never to talk.
It seems like death,
Is the answer to the mess.
Alas as silence drones on,
We realize
Death is not the answer,
We pass the test, what's our prize?
Silence. An element in which
Our minds find it easier
To think of matters
Which need attending.
We pour from our hearts,
The secrets we wish to be free of.
The broken hearts,
Need mending.
As morbid as this poem is,
The truth in it you'll find,
Is impossible to ignore.
Silence is our dying gift.
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