Silence tiptoes up the path
And opens my front door.
It enters of its own accord
And lies upon the floor;
Its auburn hair disturbs the patterns
Of the grimy carpet there,
And its sneakers find a purchase
On a battered dining chair.

It looks so natural, lying there;
Like an incongruous dream:
If you ever saw a shadow wink
Then you know how it seems
To see Silence smoke my cigarettes,
Play its honest ploy:
A companion which will share the loss
Of with whom I shared my joy.


by Matt