Silence

No response

 

I wonder what it means

Which is a dangerous thing to do

Since there is an infinity of wrong answers to choose from

And I usually read too much into a silence

Or too little

Imagining the worst or missing the negative cues

 

Silence

 

Sometimes its frosty, cold as a shoulder turned away at midnight

Or just an absence of attention

A quiet acceptance of a moment of contemplation

 

But usually it’s just another lesson in patience

A question waiting to find an answer in a vacuum

And what I don’t hear

Is lost in translation

 

 

David Trudel  ©  2013

 

 

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