Silence (a poem)


Is Silence golden,

     as treasure or penance,

    in keeping a secret,

     or sitting upon a fence?

Some ask the reason, why

      something made of nothing

      can instill peace or unease.

           A power to lift our soul or

           or bring us to our knees.

An unwelcome presence

         in absent answers most desired,

      on sweeping wings of lonely night,

         in drift over sorrowed gravesites,

       to punish wrongs, not made right,

          by fright of birds scattered to flight.

A splendid omniessence    

           in breeze of summer’s shade,

        feathered kisses warm on cheek,

           as the candlelit books are read,

       by oaths in eyes of love shared,

            in the ease of fear that’s shed.

Silence is understood in the soul

  attentive to its presence.

          If wisdom be your master,

          let silence become your gold.

©2021 Joan Wiley

Published by Joan Wiley❤

An American writer of dark future, Sci-Fi Fantasy, and poetry. I need snacks, love attention, take naps, and get moody. I may possibly be a cat.🐱

6 thoughts on “Silence (a poem)

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