Rhretoric

Somewhere in the darkness
silence is born.

Midnight's veil is drawn from
the waking face of dawn-
the light erodes the quiet.

You and I,
gathering the mornings' breath,
dodge the creaks and groans of floorboards
on our way elsewhere...

Words spill into the silence
in incoherent moments
where our mouths
spew like lacerated veins--

Hours fill with discourse like jars of discarded change--
(always intending to trade them in for larger currency)

Rambling
like a grandfather's story
we waste our time complaining about
what little time we possess...

Always struggling to pin-point the moment when
we fell asleep as children and awoke as men.

I wish we could realize
(before the descending curtain of dusk
brings our conversations to a close)
in our youth
we were far too eager to sacrifice the silence...