© 2011 Rolland G. Smith
What is this? This nothing, I hear and feel.
It was not here just a moment ago.
Then it seemed that only noise was real
With chattered talk and din a loud tableau.
There were the clinks of glass and plates to clean
And conversations long around the room.
Families come with sound when they convene
To tell of life and stories they exhume.
We oft forget to hear the silent space
That disappears within an ambient noise.
When gone, it leaves no sign, no note, no trace,
But reappears when sound is minimized.
I know the reason silence must now roam
It waits for all the kids to head on home.
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