I had forgotten this silence existed.
One that lets me hear so much
Over distances my senses cannot gauge...
The bark of the dog doing its job
The clanging of trailers and gates...somewhere.
Birdsong, of course, is a constant
But I leave them to it, no need to disturb.

Not a socket in the house is on, by the way
Spring's sudden Sun generates comfort enough.
No Telly, no phone, no radio required,
Instinct tells me to hear the quiet
To receive not broadcast.
A bright orange book lies beside me:
It confessed all to me this morning.

I'll remember this silence always.

That mask of beauty
Unchipped flawless marble
Sculpted by aged chemistry
Intimidates but seduces me
Chokes thoughts, obstructs words
A simple mind disconcerted by
That mask of beauty.

Ink dried quick
Art's potential energy
Music = MC²

Art can bide its time
Protected by the brave
Until primed

To explode off the page
Out of speakers into minds
As a weapon of mass attention

A cackle of Crows in her craw

On his frame hung the rotting fruits of his experiences
A living carcass bejewelled by hate and spite
Candied fruit soured by the fermentation of bitterness and regret.