The Cruel Silence.

Auguste Rodin, The Thinker, 1902. An image that speaks of the beauty that can be silence.

It happens without you knowing

Spreads with no relent.

Contained beneath the surface

Forever, it hides its face.

But once you know of it

Its mysteries awake,

The silence spreads into your brain –

Where a web of feelings are contained.

Brutally still, it lies there stubborn;

Remaining.

What is worse about the silence,

Is its magic prowess;

You see whilst in one its heart remains,

Any friend or family member

Can be effected,

disturbed,

If it feels your pain,

Your affiliation with the afflicted.

It can travel through the air you see

And with enough energy remaining

It can transfer much despair

Itself in situ;

Still remaining.

Even after damage

Or complete destruction

The emotions and the feelings

Are harder to be rid of

Worse for family members,

If their loved one died.

The silence comes in many forms.

It’s hard. It’s cruel. It’s deceiving.

And part of it always remains behind.

 

This was an entry to the weekly writing challenge.