The Killing Sounds

September 4, 2010
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Silence longs to be where it belongs
In the grave is where silence goes
And each piece
And each layer
That builds in the recesses
Tugs him there
And more
As invisible hands
Rise up in a stop sign
As red lights turn in their eyes
As he finds that eardrums are barricaded
So he shouldn't waste the sound-waves
The silence no longer fits
In the recesses
And overflows
taking the whole of him
Silent as the grave

Now he stands stock still
And frightened
At where his body pulls him
One hand reaching for
the graveyard gate
Another trying to pull it
Frantically back

There is an image
Infiltrates his mind
From the silence possessing
He takes up the shovel
And digs
To lay down
To be away from the world
That did not see him anyway
To sleep
And in such silence be forgotten
To sleep and in silence forget
That no one is listening

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