The Silent Kind

I sit in the silence

And I am overwhelmed

Such a silly little thing

Yet what is silly, and what is little?

 

My mind’s disquiet

No longer my curtain

The silence that Love now brings

I see outward, and she sees in.

 

Muted in prominence

I hold myself out-held

Yet lost is the icy sting

What is else, really? Lost in the middle…

 

But amid the muddle and mindless and piddled

I sit in the subtle, all sidled and fiddle

With fingers that flutter and fondle my heartstrings

And sing songs in silence and silly sing-songings

 

And all is quiet.

And all is mute.

That which once mattered does no longer.

Storms are but showers when I am around her.

All of the piffle I once shouted through.

Now drowned out by whispers of, “Dear, I Love you.”

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