when we are most silent

yearning against the constraints,
silence leans into the wind.
it waits for the time of its appearing;
it seeks to hasten the moment.
the clattering beer can blows here and there
down the sparsely occupied street.
chimes sing on the porch
of the apartment tower standing guard,
a sentry keeping watch over the city street.

silence dances in the spaces
between the ambient sounds.
distant cars and trucks honk their horns
and race their engines.
the clatter of garbage cans alert the dog.
either a possum or a prowler, not sure which is worse.
a scream in the night.
probably another drug deal gone bad.

silence meditates in the dark watches of the night.
an invitation to the holy. An escape from worldly care.
the siren hints at the margin of awareness. silence quiets the heart.
the turf war excalates into multiple shots fired. silence cries.
somewhere into darkest alleyways, reloading occurs again. why?

silence invites us into the holy place,
the turf where graffiti loses its meaning.
into the quiet, silence leads,
knowing that only there can we listen truly.
and so we sit and listen;
we stay our speech and wait quietly.
flickering city lights grow distant as we wait upon the Lord.
we talk less and listen more.
despite our many words,

we hear best when we are most silent.

29 January 2009 by Glen Alan Woods