Observations on Silence
Is there a place where no one speaks?
A place where words are obsolete,
No one knows what language is or was,
Nor why we ever needed it.
Why use words when there are eyes?
Notice how small twin orbs
Can twinkle, can glow,
Can fill and flow.
Notice the space and time between blinking,
See the web spun by iris-arachnids –
Flirting, discerning, detecting, beholding.
Notice how eyes can brighten,
And darken,
And dance.
Why use words when there are hands?
Notice how the roughest palms –
Though creased and bruised –
Are strongest,
Can shape and safeguard anything and all.
And notice the unsettled shaking fingers,
Trembled with anxiety,
Tired with trying and untying knots.
And how, when you hold them, they’re warmest.
Notice how hands can be absent-minded
And paint pictures into empty air.
Why use words when there are lungs?
Notice how some breathing is even,
How the chatter of muscles in a cage of bones
Can sound like a lullaby if you listen long enough.
Notice the steadiness dissolve
Into a wracking cough, like winter,
Or a swelling sigh, like waves.
Notice how lungs babble,
How they whisper,
How they work.
Why use words when there are hearts?
Notice how this bloody mass of flesh
Has become the symbol for high romance,
Simply because it is the very thing of life,
Though not so simple at all.
Notice how this magic machine
Can beat as constant as a war-drum,
And yet flutter or fumble or fail
As easily as you or I, and at the slightest inclination.
Notice how hearts are as bright as the moon,
And how often they are dampened
By inclement weather.
Why use words when there are stars?
For there are no words for stars.
But notice them.
They’re rather lovely.
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