What is hiding in the quiet?

What does silence’s scissors cut?

Distance is a long railroad track;

Time ticks to a rhythmic hum.

Where are all my distractions?

What am I supposed to learn?

Step away from the emotion,

No matter how deep or sharp.

My moods do matter to me,

But in a vacuum with no care

They all pile and fall like plates.

Nothing is a sure thing

One day to the next.

The leaves have similar colors,

But the design is a fingerprint.

The mouth opens to speak

But all it can do is breathe inaudibly.

No number of books or talk

Can fill the chasm of emptiness.

One walks into the sun alone,

Hopefully dodging heavy traffic

Until they reach a place of peace.


© 2017 Valerie Hathaway

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