Silence is a whisper,
Spreading over ground.
It tastes the air and
Splays its fingers all around.

Silence licks my ear when lonely,
It thinks by touch and feeling.
It never says a word to me,
Tenative but firm in its believing.

Silence casts a gentle net,
Woven from thick strands.
It catches whatever it can get,
Holding tight, ignoring desperate demands.

Silence understands that it is not welcome
In most places, but comes anyway.
It the darkness stalks in jealousy,
And the Silence is afraid to stray.

Silence whimpers when I near,
I fear it is so afraid
That when I laugh it snaps away,
Frightened of the happy things I say.

Silence, in the end, is never joyful,
Comfortable though it can be.
I fear it will never touch the sounds of laughter,
Blanketed forever more by the unsure and unhappy.