Silence Poem by James McLain

Silence; strange how it cuts my ear,
and you along with me, stay quite.
You as my mate with each eye,
and you hold tight upon my neck,
before it comes out, each sound.

So much so as the sand rushes back,
and it's disrobed in the stillness.
Right now before dawn, and many are,
the quills that fly by, you hear the ink dry.

And she the grass wet only untill it comes.
And the blood of each yellow bath, art came.
And I came too do it, and she it too, does it now.
And what it was, that held it inside, came in silence.