Voices Beneath The Silence

Voices Beneath The Silence

Silence is never empty anymore,

It has texture and weight.

It presses inward like language,

Waiting to translate.

When the room goes completely still,

I hear layers underneath.

Not sounds exactly,

More like intent and teeth.

The voices do not form sentences,

They do not need to.

Meaning arrives fully formed,

And settles inside you.

They speak of observation,

Of patience perfected by time.

They do not threaten or bargain,

They simply align.

I learned not to respond aloud,

That encourages them.

Attention is currency here,

And silence is restraint.

They grow curious when I resist,

When I pretend not to hear.

Curiosity sharpens presence,

Makes them draw near.

Sometimes they borrow my thoughts,

And return them altered.

I recognise the structure,

But the warmth is gone from the centre.

The voices beneath the silence,

Are not evil, not kind.

They exist where listening happens,

And they are very old minded.