Silence

Stitched indeed firmly so
within the hem of silence
that sways with your gait
and slumbers with your soul
I call your name three times and more
into infinity.

But infinity’s a thing unknown
here in time’s shortened lifespan
and voices in the silence
a certain unreality
that turns the ears outward
into life’s cacophony.

It’s a din of this and that and “stuff”
designed as a distraction
from the meaningful
and all who listen slip and fall
into ignorance.

And of ignorance it clings and sucks
the lifeblood from a soul
until it shrivels up and dies
there in that hem of silence.

And when silence is indeed silent
we know we’ve crossed the line
from the living into dead
and what a life, yes, what a life
that ordains us all to be
unmindful of the silence?