the silence.

silence.
we know nothing of silence.
silence, does not exist in the human world.
the living world.

when whispers cease, the clock keeps ticking.
when footsteps creak, and come to a halt, the heart keeps beating.

the world never stops
as people move and rush and sway and

chatter incessantly

even when the blanket falls, and things become
slightly awkward-
sly glances and fingers drumming
hold that silence ever still.

an engine noise, in the distance
growing closer,    louder,  LOUDER,    slowly,    fading

like the spin of a knife
through tension's air.

or the rapid breathing of a child
within a deep, deep sleep.
lost in dreaming
rapid breathing
silence stays in shadow's grasp,
it daren't move.

it is only when
the clock stops ticking, and the heart stops beating
that silence consumes
overwhelms, engulfs a soul
as it disappears
from the living world.

within the mottled skin, and jealous veins
drunk with blood, as it lingers
nowhere to go
the silence gorges, no whispers made
a body, left to rot, infected
by sound's absence,

in swarms the decay.

if a tree falls to the forest floor
but there is no-one there to hear it
does it make a noise, a sound at all
or is the silence left to steal it?