Heather Jephcott writes

Raw Silence

Silence waited 

brooding along the path

all the way ruminating, 

the future, a shadowy way

Silence was the interval 
the downtime  
where waiting happened

full of grey indistinct thought

Silence sang with soft grief 
wondering despondently 
the hidden unknown 
quietly creaking 
 

Silence spoke with eyes

red, raw, downcast 

the gloom of noiselessness

hushed, mute and dumb

Silence was dead-air 
a vacuum fully reserved 
uncommunicative 

sitting, going no where