When a radio plays to an empty room,
Does it make any sound, or
Does it merely fill the room with silence?

I could scream, but I know it would sound
Ridiculous when there are no ears but mine
To hear it; its meaning would be
Meaningless, leaving just a sound that
My mindÂ’s ear finds abhorrent.

Sometimes, merely knowing I can is enough.

*
Glimpses of the oft ignored details
Of buildings become the glue with which
I bind the shards of our
Shattered conversations.

I reflect on how your tiredness makes you
Forget where you are, while I can switch
Between conversations like a television
Changing channels: as if they never cease,
But are merely placed in the background
For a moment.

Your slightly drowsy eyes are elsewhere
As I wonder how all those walls would
Divide my scream into
Several reflected images of the same torment.

*
My self imposed silence causes me
To ask where my voice is hiding.
The answer is made plain here:
It chooses to be revealed in ways
More creative than destructive,
More subtle than raucous,
More cathartic than vengeful.

Sometimes there is venom, but it is
Sent where it will cause least harm.

08/21/2007

Posted on 08/21/2007
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