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Silent Symphonies

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What is it of sacred silence,
that I should crave it so,
that I should constantly seek the
sweet embrace of soundless symphonies,
the smooth seduction of the mute violin,
the shy trombone that speaks not, and wish
no shrill screeches from the still flute?
Staring upon the spotless shining surfaces
of the abandoned instruments,
I do not grieve for them,
I do not shed a subtle tear,
no shameful shout of sadness,
Seven summers ago I sold my soul to the sympathetic silence,
eschewing the sly advances of sound,
that scarring seditious music
which seeks to sneak inside my skull and steal my sanity in saccharine seconds.
Sequestering my heart safely away,
I save my spirit from this shadowy scene.
I swim in silent symphonies.

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