THE SILENT SUBLIME

A silent’s silence is sought not within, nor is without,
But outwith the minds of men.

A silence sought is a silence chosen,
Received, not in time, but with time received.

Silence, the lack of, begets and bequeaths,
Since noise needs an audience to breathe.

It, like life, is set in motion, steady and certain
As the downward beat of a raptor’s wing.

How, despite chortle and chatter and nervous natter,
May man make sense of the silent sublime?

Come the morn, the sun will rise as it must, as it has,
As Earth plays host to silent forces: Gravity, Light, and Tide.

And in the end all is anechoic. Two sounds only: high and low.
Nerves in sunapsis and blood beating.

And then there is silence.