The Shape of Silence

I prefer the silence
The cold silence of solid things
I look at the wall
Standing with crutches
In the corner of my Verandah
White and misshapen
Like kneaded dough
Filled with potential
Of an unformed minaret,
Only if the right tools are laid upon her
But I am aware
That there are no right tools
So all I know is silence.
I prefer the silence
The fading silence of long lost things
I look at the faces
Long and thin
Drawn as if by children
And painted by Picasso
Walk the world with borrowed wisdom
Like characters from comics;
Life written in bad font
Upon recycled paper,
Only if life had been as funny
And forgiving
But I am aware
That there is no humor without horror
So all I know is silence

Author: TheHumanAnvil

I find poetry as a gentle reminder, a medium to relay and dwell upon all things considerate people find inconsiderate. Poetry as an art is akin to a lamp or a magnifying glass. It trails volumes of meaning behind obscure, vague words. I have been writing for a time now, and intend to do so for the time to come. And hopefully, hopefully, hope that one day, someday, a person stumbling across this veil of words, find it alluring enough to shift aside the curtain and peer, into the eyes of the naked truth which sways with the wind of reason. If you have any thoughts, it would be my pleasure to know them, if you don't then it would be a pleasure to not. Be my guest. This feast of words is for you.

9 thoughts on “The Shape of Silence”

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