The Silence

Eternal silence – our keeper isolated

Entrenched in stillness of its own existence

Beyond expectations or sentient lies

All alone to our naked eyes

Carries the burden of reality

The reality – void of any certainty

The writer’s pen may run out of words

But the silence; it does not rescind its world

The keeper of space converges on itself

The silence consumes the keeper

For not a day, a month, a year

Is in measure of its term