The Silence of Now

The Silence of Now

The silence of here and now

breeds the of noise of tomorrow.

Stillness piles up,

a weight behind the eyes,

a hum beneath the skin.

Today barely speaks.

It waits,

lets the future sharpen its edges.

Then—

the hours come crashing in:

too many voices,

too much light,

all at once.

And we remember

how loud

quiet can be.

We say nothing,

but the clocks keep count.

The air holds secrets

in the corners of rooms.

Thoughts we never spoke

return with teeth.

Time we never spent

shouts for change.

Even sleep

isn’t silent anymore.

Dreams flicker

like faulty bulbs.

And morning arrives

already tired,

already full,

already late.