There is no quiet silence.
there’s the turning of the page,
a peal of laughter,
a snatch of conversation, innocuous and inane,
the rush of wind over the ears,
the rustling sway of wind-dancer branches,
the susurration of the sea,
the cracking of the baking soil,
the buzz and click and hum of droning insects,
the sizzle of fires
the churning core of the world birthing mountains
the hiss and patter of the blizzard’s snowfall
the wail of the newborn,
the dying sigh of the old.
And death itself is only sleep,
as restless spirits manifest to tell us all:
There is no quiet silence.
Beyond Panic 