Silence Has No Meaning

Sat in a world,
Filled with noise and conversation,
My brain screams for silence.
A reprieve from the nonsense,
From the clutter and disarray.
To be sat in contemplation,
Reflection of current states,
Past events and future deeds.
I yearn for time and peace,
To sit and ponder,
To think about what my life really means,
What my actions will incur,
Where my choices will lead.
Is it dumb luck?
Or I am exercising control?
Is it nature or nurture?
Fact or fiction?
What is the meaning of everything?
Sat in a room filled with chatter,
People making idle small talk,
I pray for silence.
For people to keep and hold,
In all of the pointless natter,
To really think about the words,
The meanings and the purpose,
For speech is a gift misused,
And silence is a word often abused.
There is no need for silence to be filled,
For it to be disgraced,
By the social nervousness,
And the discomfort,
That shrouds its being.
Sometimes, to sit together,
With no words,
Is all we need.
Sat in a stadium full of fans,
Their shouting and blaring,
Then we are asked for silence.
To bow our heads and pay respects,
For many have fallen,
And congregation is the only time,
The only place,
For us to all fall silent,
Even though that time is limited.
Should silence truly be for the fallen?
And owed to the dead?
If so, then why are we all so loud!
Why are we all so concerned?
So confused at those in silence?
Sat in a theatre,
Where noise is precise,
And I hang on the silence.
Perfect moments, movements and words,
All extenuated, pronounced, explained,
By those simple moments.
Those eloquent pauses,
Where no sound is present.
It is like some kind of god,
Has done the spring cleaning,
Removed all the unnecessary babble,
And allowed us to notice the value,
Of that which is left unsaid.
And the audience,
From kindness and respect,
Sit there, eyes fixated,
Focused and bewitched,
All in silence.
Sat up in bed,
The streets but barren and calm,
I hate the silence.
I long for a melody to take my ear,
And softly sing me to sleep.
A gentle noise,
Twisted in the words of a lullaby.
For I hate this silence,
For silence is empty.
Silence is nothing.
Silence has no meaning,
Yet it purposefully bothers me,
Meaningfully taunts me,
Beckons me and turns me away.
It may have no meaning,
But it is far from purposeless.

Separate Duality

The states are incomparable,
The calculated intellectual,
Genius beyond all marks,
And the heartfelt emotive,
Embodiment of an empath.

Is this duality of self,
Truly inseparable in life?
Or are they humanities mark
Of man's bipolarity?

Does the intellectual function
Upon emotional grounds?
Or does the empath employ
Compassion upon reasoned basis?

Is true harmony expressed
Betwix the numerous lobes and Cortexes?
Or does one central focus
Outweigh the neurological development?

Is cognitive ability a separate,
Harmonious, isolated duality?

The Quiet Night and The Meditator

No words, or phrases,
Just a still night.
A single body sat,
Draped in a coral shirt,
Leaning over the water's edge,
Toes tickling the cool liquid.
Nothing too hard to think about,
Nothing too simple to neglect.
A single body sat,
Not a worry in the world,
Next to the picnic basket,
And old wooden banjo.
No love, or hate,
Just a quiet night,
A single body sat,
Beneath the willow,
Protected from the world,
The busy streets,
And the noise of the car.
No companion, or nuisance,
Just the minds-eye.
A meditator sits,
For another round,
Another attempt at bliss.
A gentle breath,
The only sound.