Silence, is inconsiderate

If I hold my breath any longer,
this bloat of words will imprison me.
There’s nothing that chokes me more,
than needing to say something,
but knowing the recipient is both too
fragile of mind and of spirit, to accept it.
someone decided to call that ‘considerate’.

I have two wives.
One is kind, loving and living.
We have children together.
Things are mostly well.
Beautiful, perhaps even poetic.

My other wife is silence.
I married her a long time ago.
There must have been something attractive about her,
because I still find myself sleeping with her more, thirty nine years later.
I wake with her, walk with her and even work with her.

She’s even taught me the art of waltzing in the shadows.
Of skirmishing in the cacophony of noise and eliminating with hitman precision anything that will affect our bond.
Silence after all is a shrill of a jealous spouse that wont let you look elsewhere.

Whilst I love the other wife more,
this wife has me hostage, ever seeking my attention.
People think I am a cheat, even if I address them with the utmost of attention,
I know, as they know, I am distracted.

How can I not be,
when all I have to do is step back from the window,
to realise I was peaking through bars, imagining freedom.

The blinders are proximity.
Intimacy with your thoughts,
can eventually imprison you,
the freedom you think you possess,
is more that freedom possesses you,
holds you hostage in your own mind.


This is what silence sounds like, when she is content.

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