Entering the silence is like
stepping into a frosty snowscape
nude
or sweltering in a sauna stoked with
bright embers.
Silence will singe your wings
and frost your figurative pumpkin.
Silence knows the score.
I said to silence,
“Shut up and let me breathe.”
But silence put its hand over my
mouth and I gasped for air.
The void needs oxygen;
oxygen needs nothing.
Perhaps if I go out and come
in again, this time it will be fine.
That ol’ vagabond mind just cannot hates silence, untii…