The Noise of Silence

In the heart of silence,
there’s a roar,
a cacophony of unspoken words,
echoing louder than thunder,
drowning thoughts in a sea of stillness,
a tsunami of quiet.

Peace is a violent storm,
whipping through the mind,
clouds of calm concealing tempests,
while gentle breezes howl in protest,
and every moment of tranquility
shatters like glass —
fractured whispers,
slicing through the air.

Stillness moves,
a dance of shadows,
where time pirouettes
in circles of infinite motion,
the clock ticking backward,
each second a marathon,
and the ground beneath trembles,
a heartbeat of chaos.

Here, the sound waves swell,
up, down, up, down,
words collapsing into static,
letters jumping, shrinking,
like thoughts escaping their cages,
suddenly vast, suddenly small,
each syllable a spark in the void —
pop! fizz! whirr!

The noise of silence,
a riddle wrapped in echoes,
where contradictions bloom like wildflowers,
“Loud is quiet,
peace is war,”
a mantra of paradox,
dancing in circles like a broken record,
repeating, repeating, repeating —

Until the silence swells,
a tide of unknowing,
and I find myself lost
in the noise of it all,
where every sound dissolves
into the static of being,
as meaning slips away,
like grains of sand through fingers,
leaving only the beautiful chaos
of silence.