Silent Sound

There is no room for whispers here,
a quiet voice gets lost in the canyons,
not even meriting an echo.

Shouts are discarded as madness,
for those who live long in the desert are,
after all by definition, mad.

So all that is left is silence,
even when there is none.

About this poem

Speaking is only half of the equation. Listening is the other.

The picture was taken taken in the quarry across from my home in West Pawlet, VT.

Tom