If only the walls could say
What has passed this way.
What passion and love,
What messages taken.
By a snow white dove?
Unspoken, but on the wing
Echoing on the walls so thin.
Such whispered intrigues
Reflected down the corridors,
Anger behind slamming doors.
Only heard through clapping wings
As the dove rises to its deliverings.
Secret messengers charged with missives
Along silent passages, secrecy lives.
Hidden doors in panelled walls
Silent locks, secret entrances to halls
Unbeknown to those deceived,
Out of sight, softly received.
Deafened in their ignorance
Those cuckolded live in oblivion,
Serving self imposed penance,
Surrounded by the shadows of opinion.
Portraits hung in long galleries,
Eyes following as we walk by, silently.
Is it the sitter or the artist who watches us,
Inspiring nervousness so quietly?
Held in place so long as they last,
Hung in space like a 3D plaster cast,
But just in the two dimensions
We are entranced in our unctions.
(As we walk we listen)
We listen to the sound of silence!
Sound that emanates from inside,
(White noise from outside!)
No answers from our science,
Knowing that all heard resides.
Touch the wall, feel the energy
Where are they all in synergy
Lost in the mystery of time
No longer cursed by writ or rhyme.
Nothing here to disturb us,
Only our silent imaginings.
We are the victim of our musings
Noting every nuance of our inspirings.
Can you bare the silence,
Can you suffer quiescence?
For, at the end of time
There will be much beholden
To prove that: Silence is golden!
© David Tenneson – 2017