Not quite there yet,
not yet here quiet.

Life is this discomfort
trying to escape itself,
a pulling string
to one side
or the other,
a wave rising and crashing
against its own
endless sea:
because life demands to be
somewhere
not quite here.

A sound continuous,
sometimes music
sometimes noise,
sometimes shout
sometimes whimper,
but never
mute

and yet here
we are,
still so
afraid
of silence.