Silence

The silence that

Stands on the

Margins of pages.

Unused places. 

Often untouched,

The silence that

Sits on our backs, 

Where hands fail 

To reach.

The silence that

Broods in the 

Corner of a room,

That doesn't 

Accumulate enough 

Dust to hold 

Your attention.

The silence amidst 

The thorns in

A rose bush,

That doesn't get

Due credit.

This silence,

Often is a lack of 

Reciprocation.

Between what

I said and what

You heard.

This nonchalance

For the things, 

Unsaid and unheard. 

The gap never 

Gets filled. 

Silence 

My dear is the

Ruin good things.