Silence stirs a soul to wake,
when day so quiet
an ominous void awaits,
as if the weight of burden soon to impose,
does sit upon a throne, and know,
when to unleash some crisis
that we by our own hands did sew,
in our foolish arrogance.
Then from that menacing lull,
as an army given charge, hell
does swoop on life in havoc’s knell,
to squander plans and comfort’s ease,
to rattle the cages of stagnancy,
and we in panic on shaky ground,
plea for mercy and quick resolve,
to regain heaven’s favor.
Oh how a feared I am
of such pregnant silence,
darkness in hold of unknown potential,
and when all turns still, I question will,
and in expectation
wonder what I have done,
the bane of my equilibrium,
the harsh teacher of my fated ride.
Yet silence is so often my friend,
a reprieve from the cacophony,
a place of freedom and resolve,
yet also the darkness where monsters stir,
and demons concur with unkind affronts,
and I must bare them all,
in a place where potential is malleable,
and choices determine my fate.
Tony DeLorger © 2017