The Metronome Of Silence Poem by Jim Young

In the eye of a storm where anti-silence circles.
Unnatural how nothing presses like nothing.
It might be hard to bare - too soon to know.
Such a warm fur coat, static tinnitus shocking
the woofers of silence into ebb and flow
and a soporific snuggle down and down.

The hand of silence laid upon my neck,
soothes my throbbing temples beside
my unfocused eye. Not drawn to anything,
no attention demanded here or there.
Eyes closed, or open, just the same.
Sighs floating in a warmness rising.
Time is not the essence of silence,
in time, there is no time.

Just simply me and me,
for no you in silence reigns.
But always something it seems.
Hush, hush, flames a hypnotic log fire
slowly eulogising to a metronome breath of thought.
How quiet it is tonight?

Silence hand on my silent hand,
upon my silent pillow.
A slowing down of down.
No fast thoughts does silence relish.
No timeless rush to be silent or to be.
A happy sadness soft carpets
the path down silence lane.
Silence of the silence,
gently silencing the thoughts in me.

'Oh' I gently whisper head to head,
silence, silence,
I do love you so.