Prose Poem: 4:30 a.m. silence

Prose Poem

4:30 a.m. silence

Silence, nothing but my computer humming, my brain reading and the sound of gentle rain falling outside my window.  The sound of traffic and the factory rumble swallowed up by some mysterious entity leaves this loud silence.

Heavy clouds hang in the sky.  Someone will be walking through the fog in a couple of hours, but for me, those will still be low-hanging clouds.  Strange how things can be so different, depending upon where you’re sitting.  From your observation point, inside your mind, you look at the world, but it’s not the same place I live, I see, I feel or hear, even when you’re standing beside me.

Silence, not a hoot of an owl or a twitter of a bird.  The air is heavy, waiting for the dawn.  The moonlight and star glow swallowed up in the black sky counterpoint the street lights in the distance, hazy ghost like beings on the horizon.  Read a few blogs, read come comments…silent words with lots of inner sound.  Words and silence, communication in silence.

I’ll go make some tea.

 

9 thoughts on “Prose Poem: 4:30 a.m. silence

  1. Bastet, I really, really like how abruptly you ended this, especially with tea making. This has a surreal feeling, as the notion of silence must always have. One can almost meditate while reading this. There is a particular chill, too; something about the morning, delivered in the title.

    Your prose is effective. Impressive.

    Like

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