Silence is never golden,
Not to me.
It is silver.
Silver armor, silver daggers, silver guns
Two closed lips where life once lingered
A silver veil draped over her face,
A black, lacy crowd weeping silver tears.
Silver is never sweet.
It is the winter's jagged wind
Tearing into the windows, wanting inside
While no one says a thing,
It is a claw-slash moon shining high in the night
Glowing silently through the dark
Like a sickle-shaped spark.
It is an averted gaze of bluish gray,
It is a gleaming strip of duct tape.
Silence is a grayscale movie when the speakers are broken.
No, it is never golden
It is only gray.
YOU ARE READING
Jars of Stars
RandomThis is a collection of the poems I've typed up on my iPad. I've noticed I enjoy incorporating nature and space into my poetry, so if you dig nature and space read my poems! Some of them are dark, some are brighter, some rhyme and some are just word...
