How would silence speak to me in dark stormy nights?
Would it disguise itself and come hiding to me
Tip toed, in the little pause between the thunder strikes?
Or would it be too scared and remain quiet like itself?
I wonder if it would tap me over my shoulder gently
To whisper its cognitive thoughts into my ears
Or if it would knock me over by its sheer presence
Like it usually does; Silence is so subversive sometimes.
It has its effervescent presence all over my life
Rolled up as water in little huge corners of my eyes.
You would feel that its docile voices would vanish
Within the voids of the tempest's hesitations.
But it lingers on through the fading dawn
And walks with me into another silent day.