Dronee
1
*I probably should stop spamming the poetry section*
***SILENCE***
My teachers tell me that silence is golden. The scientists define it as the absence of sound. Both are inaccurate. As my laptop's screen stares at me staring back, I can only conclude that there are different kinds of silence. The silence of the wise who choose their words carefully and with intelligence. There is the silence in the scientific sense.
And then there's my kind of silence. This silence is loud. It is the sound of the phone not ringing. The echoes of long buried memories clawing their way back to the surface of my mind. Silence is the pulse of my thoughts as they run around in circles like hamsters with their wheels. And silence is the question and the reply.
Nay... silence is deafening. Alone or through the murmuring chatter of a crowd, I hear it very well. There are times when I sing a song or hum a tune to drown out the voice of silence. But it is my own voice that is silenced for there isn't another to echo me.
And it seems that in all the world, there's almost no one else who can hear this silence. I wander from place to place, from one activity to another but it inevitably follows me as in truth, it is my one companion. I tried talking to it in the day, but it seems content to give no reply. Yet, at night, it has much to tell me. Without lips or mouth, it delights in reminding me of the happy couples I saw earlier in the day. Without a gesture, it turns my head at my unpaid bills... and the wealthy neighbors' mighty house just across the lawn.
I told it to shut up... but that's precisely the problem. It was already silent to begin with...
***SILENCE***
My teachers tell me that silence is golden. The scientists define it as the absence of sound. Both are inaccurate. As my laptop's screen stares at me staring back, I can only conclude that there are different kinds of silence. The silence of the wise who choose their words carefully and with intelligence. There is the silence in the scientific sense.
And then there's my kind of silence. This silence is loud. It is the sound of the phone not ringing. The echoes of long buried memories clawing their way back to the surface of my mind. Silence is the pulse of my thoughts as they run around in circles like hamsters with their wheels. And silence is the question and the reply.
Nay... silence is deafening. Alone or through the murmuring chatter of a crowd, I hear it very well. There are times when I sing a song or hum a tune to drown out the voice of silence. But it is my own voice that is silenced for there isn't another to echo me.
And it seems that in all the world, there's almost no one else who can hear this silence. I wander from place to place, from one activity to another but it inevitably follows me as in truth, it is my one companion. I tried talking to it in the day, but it seems content to give no reply. Yet, at night, it has much to tell me. Without lips or mouth, it delights in reminding me of the happy couples I saw earlier in the day. Without a gesture, it turns my head at my unpaid bills... and the wealthy neighbors' mighty house just across the lawn.
I told it to shut up... but that's precisely the problem. It was already silent to begin with...
