Today

I feel like I need to write.  But there is only silence.  The kind of silence that scrapes me somewhere back behind my sanity. The TV thunders this silence in my direction. Silent people.  Silent lives.  So loud and intrusive, just the visions of reality perceived through a lens of custom design, and they deafen me with the silence. The silence of sadness.  The silence of curiosity, and unknowing. Some would say this silence is my own.  My own silence screaming from within.  It may be.  Yet it remains and I live on.  Don't we all?  It's not a thing that maddens the everyday process or anything.  Just a silence. I know where the roots are, mostly.  I think I know how to silence the silence.