This is that empty
sort of Silence.
Well versed in loneliness.
Not unlike slammed ringing doors.

Bereft it sighs - sightlessly.
Like a stone
it sits
and sits;
a dry bitter smile,
engaged for humour.

How many thousands of days
I have spent here.
And do I tire of words
describing so drab a scene?

Do these words, here and now,
make it any more real?
Or unreal?
It is timeless.
There is no before,
or after.

Like a bright, pale blue sky,
waits;
for darkness to come.
Shedding tears in crimson
and lilac hue.
Yet it's passing,
is only a moment.