Silence In Discomfort Poem by Moth Harris

This discomfort, abyss, the emptyness
and everything inbetween here and there
Where we used to be and where we stare
The silence, the reclusiveness of empty words.
Not the chitter chatter of small birds
Only the pecking and it never stops
Drops into this discomfort, abyss the emptyness
This silence, in suspence of something louder
To be heard and not seen. Not deaph but blind
A solid line between where I am now compared to then
Back when, noise was abundant, but not now.
For it is silence that has been sound. Silence
That I do not charish, only wish to parish
before it consumes, dooms, cast here in this room
A tomb to what is lost, may this be forgotten.