Oh Silence, What is your true form?
Silence cold and silence warm.
Silence is gold and money is power and power corrupts
So on one side silence destructs as an epic dictator.
The high card to any hand, though some may deem you bland,
your flavorlessness is not without potency, for boldly you cry for attention,
the throbbing emptiness louder and louder erupts when broken by words, making any and all sound absurd.
You are the quintessential nagger,
The silent treatment, a dagger to the heart.
Your are the ultimate obscurity,
For one could hide eternity behind that shroud of nothingness.
You are death,
For only the lifeless lack that subtly murmured breath.
But silence doesn’t stop there, for it wouldn’t be fair
To compare that pure soundless air to a dictator and not a peacemaker.
A moment of quiet amongst the riot of life is enough,
Enough to rebuff that ignorance, that helplessness, that stuff,
Which drags beneath the busy current of a day.
What other way could you flush out the reverberating noise
Echoing, toying with your mind.
In the midst of the cacophony silence is ecstasy.
Silence, the epitome of reverence,
For when your body, and even tongue bends in awe,
It is submission so raw, words cannot contend.
Silence is true.
Before a word is vocalized it has already been compromised,
Perverted to imbue a hint of meaning separate from reality.
Thus the purity of silence, how can one twist what does not exist?
But am I any further to understand,
The abilities which silence has?
It is a gift; it is a curse.
To a deaf man constant, to a husband the adverse.
Both dangerous and humorous, but to delve into the depths of quiet is most arduous.
Since we shall never know, the extent that silence goes
It has secrets it shall never show.