Silence stills the early hours,
silent is the voice.
Quiet stills the storm within,
quiet formed by choice.
Unseeing eyes that scan the stars,
unfeeling hands that clasp.
Unending thoughts that slowly dance,
from solaces soft grasp.
Shallow is the breath that's cast,
gentle soft and measured.
Pensive conjured thoughts appear,
from memories, old and treasured.
Questions asked, answers sought,
from angels on the wing,
Silence still takes pride of place,
Grace hallows, everything.
Laurie hill
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/silence-325/
