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Is Silencegolden,

as treasure or penance,

in keeping a secret,

or sitting upon a fence?

Some ask the reason, why

something made of nothing

can instill peace or unease.

A power to lift our soul or

or bring us to our knees.

An unwelcome presence

in absent answers most desired,

on sweeping wings of lonely night,

in drift over sorrowed gravesites,

to punish wrongs, not made right,

by fright of birds scattered to flight.

A splendid omniessence

in breeze of summer’s shade,

feathered kisses warm on cheek,

as the candlelit books are read,

by oaths in eyes of love shared,

in the ease of fear that’s shed.

Silence is understood in the soul

attentive to its presence.

Ifwisdom be your master,

          let silence become your gold.

©2021 Joan Wiley