Silence

The Silence Between Us

There is a silence in this room

that breathes like something still alive—

it curls around the dying bloom,

it waits for dusk, it waits to thrive.

Your eyes don’t move, your hands don’t shake,

but shadows gather at your feet.

The words we never dared to make

hang heavy, hollow, incomplete.

The candles drown in wax and sleep,

the walls lean in to overhear.

In silence, what we couldn’t keep

returns in whispers, sharp and clear.

Your love was never loud or bright—

it crept in like a winter storm,

a velvet hush, a hunger bite,

too cold to kill, too slow to warm.

And now you sit, a ghost in skin,

the silence ringing like a bell.

I trace the edge of where you’ve been—

a silence I have learned too well.

In the house of Silence 

In the hush where voices fade,

Silence weaves its soft cascade—

A breath between the notes of sound,

Where peace and wonder both are found.

It speaks in tones the soul can hear,

In stillness drawing echoes near,

A whisper not from lips or air,

But something ancient, always there.

It lives where twilight meets the sea,

Where thoughts drift slow and minds roam free,

Not emptiness, but something whole,

A quiet mirror of the soul.

It cradles grief, it sharpens joy,

It holds the truths we can’t destroy.

In silence, time forgets to run,

And shadows sleep beneath the sun.

So sit with it—no need to flee,

The quiet is a kind of key.

It does not ask, it does not tell,

But there, the heart may learn to dwell.