Things, they say
they aren’t anything
but things
And the part of me
the rational quiet part knows
that the words they say
the facts
that are facts
are true
but
in the things
in the sounds
and tastes
and textures
patterns
lie
the memories
trapped there
The walls have ears
I guess they say
but what no one seems
to grasp
understand
they have not only ears
but a voice
I can hear
everything
from when this was given
that was bought
or what was happening
The fear in me
screams
that if I part with the things
I part with the memories
and the rational logical voices
just don’t understand.
sounds
Sounds of Silence
Do you hear it
The sounds
that creep into the silence?
that make up the silence
that drown out the silence
that mock and joke and lay waste
to the silence
Three clocks
ticking
in point and counter point
NEVER in unison
the coffee pot hum
the light hum
the refrigerator (I hear Mr Boling’s “the Frigidare” even though it isn’t) hum
the hum of the power in the lines
someone two blocks over
trimming their lawn
the cat breathes
the dog chuffs
the bubbles
in the can of pop
the water in the ice maker
the water in the pipes
the water in the sink
the woosh of the blood
in my veins in my ears
the bee
beating himself senseless on the window glass
the grackle on the roof of the shed
screaching the morning refrain
the sounds
that drown
the silence that isn’t
do you hear them
can you feel them
burrowing into your brain
do you hear them?
you don’t…
I know you don’t
you hear the sounds of silence
blissful, peaceful silence
not that which mocks me
Clandestine Writing... 