Silence.

Not a crash, not a breeze,

Not even the sound of a seagull or the shaking of a coconut tree,

Just a barrier of silence for miles and miles surrounding me.

Peace.

I can finally hear myself think.

No car horns, no yelling, no pitter patter of rain brining me to the brink...

Of insanity.

So quiet, that even my whispers shake the sand at my feet,

Filling up the the empty vacuum surrounding me,

Which allows me to think of all the questions I could never think,

Without them being drowned out by the noises and questions of others.

Bliss. 

Two hours later...

I yell, I scream,

I stick my hands in the dirt and try to strangle the life out of the little grain of sand in my palms,

To get this lifeless object to somehow blurt out what I esteem, SOUND!

I have become sick and tired of hearing my own voice,

I have reveled in the lavish pool of silence to the poitn of alcoholism,

Throwing up my own voice as if its sound will somehow cure me,

But it only reminds me of my illness.

The same illness that made Jack Palance turn to murder for a rush,

The same illness that feeds dictators and rulers' egos,

Who get drunk on the same thing which I now find repulsive as well, 

The single sound of my voice unchallenged, inescapable, 

As if all the grains of sand were my soldiers waiting attentively to my every word.

Silence is Golden?

HAH!

It's more like a curse than a treasure, and I feel more like Midas than a jeweler.

As everything around me turns into the thing I so once valued more than anything,

Realization, along with further paranoia, sets in.

I find myself on the verge of dumping sand in my ears to hear my ears ring in pain, 

Only to realize that the deafness that would follow would put me in hell.

 My inner thoughts turn to screams and my fists turn to putty as I continually punch the sand in anger,

Until thethoughts in my head play to a different tune.

Literally, a tune emerges in my head, nothing special,

Just one note.

However, one note turns to two.

Two notes, turn to four.

Before I know it, notes become instruments, and words begin to emerge.

I recollect the last song I heard before being stranded on this island,

I begin to smile,

As the songs I recollect grow, so does my smile, until I remember an entire playlist and I have strained the muscles in my face.

At last I have found the bliss and peace I sought, and with it thrown out the silence I once valued as gold in exchange for...

Music.