A Chronicle of Silence

First there are words of 
love and affection, of
undying devotion and loyalty.


These words fade, 
quickly enough I imagine,
leaving words of 
sadness and loss, of
enduring pain and loneliness.


Then there are new words,
words of hate and fire, of
consuming mistrust and vengeance. 


Then, defeated, they slink back
to where they were born. 
What words remain to be 
spoken? What else could possibly be
said?


This is the dusky, unclear world 
where words finally fade into silence.
When all the fight has gone out
like a snuffed candle,
a rapidly deflating tire, punctured
by a nail.


And really, in this twilight,
there is nothing left to say.
Nobody will understand hasty 
words anyway.


and nobody really wants 
to bother fighting, finding the words
to penetrate the icy 
silence, the eternal quiet
that endures when words,
precious, live-saving words,
cannot. 

Imperfections

There are fractures
on the surface, or course,
but also inside


right down to the very
core. A house of cards
fabricated from the
most fragile glass, ready to


topple down at the
merest hint of a
breeze. Fragility


and imperfections 
that have become such
second nature, glue 
always on hand 
to reconstruct the
frail foundation of our


existence. A leaning
tower of imprecise
oddities, jammed together,
hoping, someday, to


get it right.