Taciturnity

Torn betwixt silence and solemnity 
Knocked hard by quietude and calmness
Plundered by the rage of nothingness
Destroyed in that vacuum nature of an hour without minutes,
Minutes devoid of seconds,
Seconds that mark heartbeats; heartbeats that show life.

Life.
Life bustling with joy and glamorous babble.
He longed for life,
For disturbances that would rock his calm
And sweep away the cold silence.
Beautiful noise that would beat hard on his loneliness:
Abrading between the stolid taciturnity and the madding sound waves,
Creating a kind of heat and warmth that he knew he lacked.
                                         James Kaluna 

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