Silence is a special form of genius.
A genius that goes so often unheard,
Though it’s power to speak more than sound is infinite.
Silence long ago realised the superfluousness of incessant noise,
The dangers of reckless gaudiness,
Words spoken without thought,
Rushed, Hurried, Hastened,
As the lack of peace concerns.
Silence appreciates the beauty in the serenity of smooth, almost motionless waters,
The delicate lull of unhurried boats,
The rapid wings of the birds that circle,
Or the charm of a tongue-tied salute from a fellow silence-loving passerby.
Thoughts here are deep,
As deep as the waters that surround and serenade,
And though sound here is fiction,
More is said and spoken,
Than by any man of any time.