I long for a real silence, real and deep,
the type one can probably only imagine,
the type you can’t find, but stumble upon.
In a cavern, or deep down a reef,
high in the mountains, in its deep steeps,
or probably, a ship abandoned ages ago,
or the tiny hut at the end of the woods where the clematis grows.
Where you can hear,
lightning without thunder,
crackling of the wood, under the burning pyre,
the dew falling on the leaves,
the whisper of the willow trees,
the flight of a butterfly and the ladybug nearby.
A silence so real, a silence so deep,
it allows you to hear, the voice of your spirit,
the rhythm of your heart and the voice of your breath,
the chattering of mind and the bickering of emotions,
your angels forgiving, and the demons deep within.
The silence some call deafening,
is music to my ears,
music I heard never before,
music I call, symphonies in black.
A disguise which hides the truth and silences the lies,
Makes you look wise, and increases your vigilance,
This is what I call the symphony of silence.