You can hear a pin drop
in my world; it is still.
Except the gentle beat of my heart
for that is not still.  Not yet.
But it no doubt will
be one day.  Not yet.
You can hear the silence
creeping in and out of rooms
closing doors in my imagination
Keeping the quiet at bay
locked in, that sort of thing.
Welcome to my world, the world of still
the world of nothing but silence.
That is not a bad thing, until
you are placed in that position.
Nobody ringing, no one calling.
Nobody to talk to just yourself.
The elderly do it, they manage it.
They have plenty to say, lived through.
It is tough, this silence, will I do it.