Listening for the sounds of silence
stuck on the other side of the fence
too strained to climb over it
no gaps through which it could fit.
The night is a ribbon of silence,
laced with the honking of trucks,
poeple quacking around like ducks,
the ribbon lies torn, can no longer be fixed
The chirping birds,
the singing bog,
the gurgling river,
lost to the world.
Looking for the fence,
i travel around,
till my feet grow tender,
i don't think it exists,
above the ground,
so it must be
six feet under
Waiting for silence that waits
something finally worth the wait
I stop travelling and stay
let not my end depend on fate.
