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