Silence is the drone of air conditioners,
Refrigerators, and power outlets, humming as one-

Silence is the sound of ticking clocks;
And the anxious breath of someone waiting-

Silence is closing doors, and the murmurs
And whispers of someone next door-

Silence is hearts thumping
In the fleshy cages of nervous lovers-

Silence is the sound of the needle,
Slowly flipping over the inner groove-

Silence is the pitter-patter of rain,
Followed by the chirping of birds and the bubbling of a brook-

Silence is the sound of soft tears
Rolling down cheeks, on the receipt of downcast news-

Silence is the wind,
Blowing through on a breezy day-

Silence is golden, but it’s worth its weight in words-

Silence is golden, but it’s only fools gold.

— …

Despite what they may tell you,
The Four Horsemen aren’t the ones to be feared.
It is the lone one, whom you should hide from.

We let the four exist for fear of one.
Because at least the four aren’t alone.

We build cities, tolerate angry strangers.
So that we may be with someone around us.

We sacrifice, help those in need.
Because we might just make a family.

We cry out, from exhaustion.
So that we might make friends.

But they don’t have to be family or friends,
When the lone horseman comes.

In darkness a stranger is still human.

— The Lone Ranger

Those lights, those lights
Which tether us to this world;
That prove we exist, create.

They string the roads and water
That we have domesticated into our service.

From a plane at night one might look down,
And see all humanity smiling back.

— From a plane at night

The wind was clean to his lungs,
Cool and crisp he could breathe again.
After being underwater for years,
His head finally broke the surface.

Walking around on land was again new to him,
Like when he was young, he had to work just to stay standing.
In his mind, he remembered why he first went underwater;
Gravity was just too much.

But he didn’t long to go back
He had missed the warmth of the sun,
He missed being dry,
And he had missed seeing people.

Walking into the distance the water on him started to evaporate
The wind was clean to his lungs.

— On Staying Dry