And we sit in relative silence
It echoing off each expression and shrug
The absence of contact exasperates
The solidity of the quiet
Why must there be this lack of sound
This lack of touch, feel
Even the expressions make no noise in the face
Just the changing of lines and orientation of features
When not moving, each sits in a neutral position
Saying nothing to the other's silent face
And this silence is deafening
Bouncing off the walls and down the halls
When will the joyous sounds return?
Uncertainty feeds this beast with no voice
Making those exposed question any change
Is there some meaning behind the echoes of nothing?
As if it we're out on the tundra in winter
With no sign of life, not even the wind
The only stirs are the movement of the air
As we pass each other, not touching
Only the breeze as we cut pass
Where are the blue birds of spring?
Their tweets breaking through
The first sprouts of the acorns that fell before the frost
When will they come and bring back the music,
The joy that once was that filled where silence is now
Posts
