The Silence

My friend
who lives in the woods
told me there’s
a silence there
he’s never heard before.
he’s lived in the woods
for nearly twenty years
and while he’s heard
plenty of quiet,
volumes and volumes
of quiet,
the silence
that he’s now hearing
is something new,
a rare species
announcing its presence
like a changed vocabulary of air.
Which made me wonder—
Has the famously golden silence
about which
many monks and mystics
have waxed poetic,
has that silence
begun its infectious creeping
to a next level of pervasiveness
and reign,
its singular voice
growing stronger and stronger
in vying for the claims
of our deeper attention?
Are we, the humans,
being forced via paradigm shift
into becoming less,
so much wonderfully less
than we thought we were
or voiced ourselves to be?
There was a writer,
a German one,
who called for
and prayed at the altar
of the god of slowness,
and I like to imagine
that this man’s god would,
in matching pace to tone,
speak softly, a silky pulsing hush
gentling its way into
the hearts of those who listened,
as if eavesdropping at the edge of a dream,
where memory pooled to silver,
in thrall to levels
seeking the tenderest wake.


About John Biscello

Originally from Brooklyn, NY, writer, poet, spoken word performer, and playwright, John Biscello now lives in Taos, New Mexico. He is the author of three novels: Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale, Raking the Dust, and Nocturne Variations, and a collection of stories, Freeze Tag. His fiction and poetry has appeared in: Art Times, nthposition, The Wanderlust Review, Ophelia Street, Caper, Polyphony, Dilate, Militant Roger, Chokecherries, Farmhouse, BENT, The 555 Collective, Instigator, Brass Sopaipilla, The Iconoclast, Adobe Walls, Kansas City Voices, and the Tishman Review. His blog--Notes of an Urban Stray--can be read at Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale was named Underground Book Reviews 2014 Book of the Year.
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