The silence
speaks to me
of things long gone
of times past recalling
of words spoken in a careless rush
to win, to hurt, to acquire
Aloud, so loud
the silence hurts my heart
it rakes its unforgiving nails
down an aching void
of regret and yearning
that drips down my face
Those banshee wails?
Is that the silence
full-throated in its censure?
Or is that me
calling for you?
