They say it is in the spaces
behind language that meaning
is born; that in the silence,
romance blooms & withers,
hatred embers & flames.
It is in the silence before
the earth shatters, 
the emptiness before
crinkled palms touch.

I have long been terrified of Silence.

I would throw words into the wind,
and hope they reached Vienna,
hope that a poor man stumbled upon them,
and became rich. The coalescence of hope
and phonetics became the rhythm of my thoughts,
the gentle thrum behind my heartbeat.

I used too many words
to describe the silence
(a silence that I destroyed,
in my eagerness to grow
love).

I have long been terrified of Words.

To hold such power within my
youngling fingertips, to watch the sapling
of my poetry sway underneath the thunderstorm
of prose,

I shook & screamed verses aloud.

And you reminded me
that the Silence gave poetry life,

and that the Silence
gave our hands
the world.