AprilPoWriMo 21

It goes without saying 
so much has not be said

to oneself or in company
days and nights of muteness

unfathomable before
so much pervasive silence

the only music is machines
keeping heartbeats alive

separate from the stages those
who ascend are meant for

what will greet us upon return
but ghost light prominences

the memory of all those silences
becoming ever slightly yet

so desperately loud