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Wednesday, January 3, 2024

The Quiet

 


In old age, the quiet came
to live in my bones. It crept in
as softly as a cat padding across the floor,
and took possession of my heart.

I stopped talking, listened to the peace
of no words, no sounds, other than
the hum of the refrigerator
or the heat pump.

Observing the human herd,
I marvel at the need
people have to be
talking, talking, talking.
I sit on the sidelines and watch;
I have little to say that
I have not already said,
and no one listens anyway.
Words are not solving
the world's big problems,
clearly. Too many of them
are making things worse.

In old age, the quiet came
to live in my bones; it set up camp
in my heart.
It is peaceful here, so peaceful
I rarely venture out into
the cacophonous world.

Inspired by Ada Limon's poem The Quiet Machine.

4 comments:

  1. The human herd is always talking but, there needs to be a time of listening. It is in the silence we can truly hear - Truedessa

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  2. I understand. You have said so many words in your life, and if they have not been heard by now you don't have more to say. Sometimes quiet is good. Sometimes quiet is the only thing that can give the heart peace.

    I like this poem, Sherry. It is an honest one! Thank you for this.

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  3. A lot of people listen to your words...which give meaning and hope to their lives. That's a special gift Sherry. Silence enables us to be in touch with the "other" dimension. The experience of peace is a perfect one..x..Rall

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