They say it is in the spaces
behind language that meaning
is born; that in the silence,
romance blooms & withers,
hatred embers & flames.
It is in the silence before
the earth shatters,
the emptiness before
crinkled palms touch.
I have long been terrified of Silence.
I would throw words into the wind,
and hope they reached Vienna,
hope that a poor man stumbled upon them,
and became rich. The coalescence of hope
and phonetics became the rhythm of my thoughts,
the gentle thrum behind my heartbeat.
I used too many words
to describe the silence
(a silence that I destroyed,
in my eagerness to grow
love).
I have long been terrified of Words.
To hold such power within my
youngling fingertips, to watch the sapling
of my poetry sway underneath the thunderstorm
of prose,
I shook & screamed verses aloud.
And you reminded me
that the Silence gave poetry life,
and that the Silence
gave our hands
the world.
