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Ode to Silence

Why people feel the need or desire to

Listen to the radio

Or surround themselves with machines that whir and beep

Or white noise to fall asleep

Or go to concerts

Is beyond me

I don't understand why

People want noise all the time

They're committing a terrible crime!

They mutilate silence

Tarnish delicate laconism

And mangle quiet

Machines everywhere!

Machines and devices, noise and distraction from the essence of life

Tooting, blaring, screeching, whistling, crashing

Honking, booming cracking, grinding, and trilling!

We happily bask in this cacophony

 

So much noise that we tend to forget that

How truly precious real silence is-

A gold nugget in a long, tumultuous river.

Yet we don't want any of it, not even a sliver

Silence is that which comes nearest to expressing the ineffable

It's so pure and so true, so delectable

Silence is a true friend who never betrays

Whatever has happened to saying it all with a simple gaze?

Words are by no means proof of wisdom

Silence isn't ignorance or dullness of mind

Silence is refined

Silence is

A pause between birdsongs

The mournful song of lonely hearts

The sigh of a tree

The shift of the clouds

The obscure and perishing rhythm of forgotten thoughts

The throb of the summer sun

The timid streaming of tears down a child's cheek

The fall of a snowflake

The pulse of the veins on a frail white wrist

And a kiss between whispered promises

 

Babble is empty

And words, like wire

May seem solid

Yet they can be twisted to resemble anything-

Weak promises, false prayers, delusive prophecies

And can easily be broken, if one distorts them enough.

 

Silence is more eloquent than phrases

It is not nothing

It has a form, dimension, substance

A texture and quality of its own

So many people associate it with mystery, privacy and isolation

When really it reveals it all

Silence can be jealous; rough and small

It can be peaceful; blue and hazy

It can be tumultuous; confused and crazy

Silence can be loving; soft and surrounding

Or it can be spiteful; violent and pounding

Silence can chaste; reserved and shy

Or it can sensual, with a voluptuous sigh

Silence can be puzzled; blurry and nauseous

It can be disgusted; halting and cautious

Silence can be grieving; a falling apart

It can be horribly heavy; the weighing of unspoken secrets on a fragile heart

Silence can be anything

Agitated, insecure, submissive or authoritative

Giddy or gloomy, vicious or respectful

Silence contains it all

Every word, every language,

All the knowledge, all the memories, all the emotions

If you've ever watched a sunrise, or been in love, or spent a night home alone, or sat in grieving silence as someone held your hand

Then you know this

 

The silly young, the brash and impatient ones, always break the silence

With gossip and music and profanity and small talk

They always giggle, interrupt, argue and squawk

Constant conversations, words, motions, defense, offense, back and forth

Yet those who are comfortable with each other can sit without speaking

Because to love and be quiet is enough

To hold hands and not say a word is enough

Silence is the gift of the world that we've pushed aside

A precious gift wrapped in white that we've rudely denied

Silence is the highest form of thought

And it is by slowly developing this mute contemplation in us that we will,

Step by step,

With reflections, speculations, and musing

Be able to reach what is true about ourselves.

When we are quiet and timid

We sit silently and watch the world around us

We see things, we read things, we hear things that others don't, we keep quiet about them, and we understand.

 

I don't understand why people fear the hush

Perhaps people are afraid to surrender to the clear ****** of it

Maybe all these fools think that to keep quiet is to erase yourself

Maybe they associate silence with loss of life

Perhaps some of them know that listening to the silence can be painful

That it can reveal the pain of the world

So they cower and shy away from it

 

Yet look at what I've done

I'm just like the rest of them, aren't I?

I wrote and wrote, yet what do all these words mean?

How pretentious of me to think I could be one to put silence into words

Request permission to use this poem
Written by
laetitia
French
Published
Feb 28, 2013
Lines·Words
98·736
Notes

Ode to Silence by Geneviève Pardoe Macchiarella is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Permission

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