When the roaring winds quiet and the crashing waves subside,
What's left is a silent picture,
A still frame of destruction,
A single image worthy of awe,
When the final chord is strummed and the last beat drummed,
What's left is an eerie silence,
A mental echo of the sounds,
A silent vibration through the air,
When the bright lights burn out and the world starts to slumber,
What's left is a somber mood,
A time to contemplate,
A chance to experience true silence,

Take the time to marvel at the after-image, the absence of sound, the Silence of night,
For actions are only as meaningful as the thought given to them in their Absence.