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Distancing myself
from the world of what I know
(the heart of needless words),
I slip into a space between the parallels
of young and spent,
of life and shadow,
of colour and its absence,
dancing with that careless appearance
that only newborns claim
before knowing the terrors of the world;
Before they learn that silence is sometimes worth
it's weight in gold.
Or sewage.

Ah...such silence.
Silence is the key to listening.
And listening is the key to learning.
Can this precious silence be so golden as the leaves
of West Virginia in the fall?
I think my mind does answer no, but I cannot seem to fall
into the cup of firm decision with its smooth and arrogant walls.
"Not yet!" ,it cries, "Not yet! Don't be as foolish as your fathers.
They too decided young that they were old enough
for wisdom to be past them.
I fear it is my duty as your architect of knowledge
that I cry to you 'Not yet!'."

And so I wait.
And, with silence, I listen.