|The Sounds of Silence (standard:other, 292 words)|
|Author: pheonix||Added: Nov 23 2008||Views/Reads: 1815/0||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|A poem relating some of my thoughts as I lay depressed awaiting another cancer operation.|
Sounds of Silence (A few thoughts whilst awaiting another cancer operation.) Time before silence is silver, heralding silence's gold. So many kinds of silence, can they ever be told? Distant mushroom smoke-cloud - the shape of H-Bomb doom. Jilted love; Contemplated suicide, or awaited promise of a loved one's smile. Rosebuds bursting into bloom. Spiders at their luring looms, Spinning, weaving wheels of fortune. Condemning flies to doom. Dawn-drenched, on thorn hedges. Silken-threaded targets, Dew-spangled death-traps silently shimmering. Fleeting memories – perchance of wild geese, flying high Through crescent-moonlit sky. The soundless steps of silhouetted shepherds searching: Seeking lost sheep swift-swept snowdrifts softly shroud. Twin salt-sad springs, coursing, down furrowed cheeks Carved gaunt with pain. Stifled sobs of shock-shattered soul, contemplating departed loved ones: The desolate devastation of each drumming, numbing heartbeat. Silence of moonbeams, rainbows - or distant striated sea-horse waves Washing and whitening pebble-strewn sandy shore. Slow-steered sundial shadow, showing magic moments. Moving inexorably, incorrigibly into the quiet corridors of time. Gently gyrating gleams of goldfish swimming invisible globe-streams. Swallow-swathed summer night, settling to softly slumber. Primrose bud, offering sympathetic ear to weary wayfarer resting near. Autumn, heralded by soft approaching hush of leaves in free-fall. Slumbering thrush - Shadows Weeping Willows cast on lawns. Sun-baked, wind-carved drifting desert dunes. Salt lakes - lifeless stretches of silvered calm. Raindrops on rose-petals unfolding at dawn. The simple beauty of a moss-velvet stone. The fragrance of evaporating dew rising from flowers, As heads - zephyr-bent - exude their delicate scents. A last brief moment of meditation.. No power to love or hate, Will it be scalpel's swish or subconscious wish that seals my fate? As I lay on the operating table, unconsciousness ever so near, These are the sounds of silence I hear.... Tweet
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