Silence.

Silence.

It’s a weird thing

Because what we define as

Silent

Isn’t really silent at all

You can still hear

Tapping

Of shoes to an unknown beat

Scratching

Of pencils on paper

Shifting

Of restless bodies in seats

Squeaks

From desks so very old

Crinkling

From paper being moved

You can hear a

Chorus

Of breaths all around

Engines

Of the cars venturing to places far and wide

Groans

Of the heater working away

And you can still hear

Every goddamn cursed thought

Every scream of agony

Every screech of fear

Every insult they growl

Every taunt

In your head it is everything but

Silent

Because you see

Silence

Isn’t really silent at all

Silence

Is really so very loud.

• poem
• poetry
• silence