Sometimes the silence is deafening.
Oppressive weight crushing my chest
Of words that can’t be said
And tears that can’t be cried
The ache of all that should not be
The thieving tide, unpredictable,
Turning, seeping away
Beyond my reach.
Sometimes the silence is deafening.
Sometimes the silence is holy.
Seeping into every corner of my being,
Sacred and undefinable,
Gently bidding me to linger still
Where presence is a gift,
And all that is required.
Sometimes the ache is right and good
And eternity bends close.
Sometimes the silence is holy.
