There is Silence.

Not the whispering of the radio

Or the squeaking of the street.

There is Nothing.

There is Silence.

The oppressive waves of sleep assault,

And alertness calls retreat.

My eyelids grow with weight,

But there is Nothing.

There is Silence.

No one speaks a word;

No one makes a sound.

Everyone is sitting and writing and watching,

But there is Nothing to watch.

There is Silence.

I grasp my pen with a feeble hand,

As the sun illuminates a page.

I take the pen from out my dirty pocket,

And place a phrase upon the page:

"There is Silence."