There is no such thing
as perfect silence
in my normal existence.

In waking hours,
thoughtful cacophony
fills my head,
filtering out the sounds
that really matter.

In my sleep,
dreams shout aloud
all the wonders
I recall from
distant memory.

But I came close
once
to attaining such
silence,
such aloneness.

Strong boughs held
me up, keeping me safe
from the dangers
below.

A broken grip,
losing touch with
the support
I forgot about.

Deafening pain
roared through
my very being,
muting my desire
to listen to reason.

I heard nothing,
except for my own desire
to live
in silence.