[13] THE SILENCE WE KILLED SAVED
Silence--
it's a shout out to the end
we're all waiting for. We don't hear it
coming, but we see it even with our eyes
folded blind by the noise. It crawls with
oblivion and darkness and has been
trailing behind us wherever we go.
And we've noticed--in the isolation,
where it's easier to hear how it all ends.
We've created plagues, wars,
destruction, and we haven't
realized how much we've
killed ourselves over and over again.
And now we expect more than silence
for a tragic end, more than a becoming
a speck of dust unworthy of notice.
But now we also have to listen
to the silence when it shouts:
it's the simple things
that kill us most.
YOU ARE READING
Witherland
PoesiaAgain: precarious. When blood remains, I see the world tripping over the edge of the sword, red and forgotten. They drop, drop, drop-- balance. And we fall endlessly. [a poetry series by alice © 2017]
