You are a most fragile thing,
Yes, and you’re rarely found pure,
Refreshing like a mountain spring,
He who lacks you is honestly poor.
People fear your genuine company,
Your attendance can be lonely.
So they take you into custody,
To destroy you, thinking of self only.
The collective chaos of your absence,
Somehow they thrive on it.
What they carelessly lack is balance,
We don’t get along in the least bit.
You are a most difficult thing to disturb,
You bring such a pensive atmosphere.
Distracted by other things perturbs,
But just like that, you disappear.
Who am I?
My name is Silence. I am a gift to those who know me. I am a curse to those who deny my benefit.
— The End —