The ripples of pain we feel

When we hear nothing at all.

Why is it said that silence is golden?

Silence is iron when it rusts

And it takes form as a dagger

That impales you,

And you feel  every jag rip from your core,

And you bleed out,

Slowly,

As you wait for a word to be said;

Reassurance,

Solidarity,

Anything to make the pain

Go away or understandable.

Instead, you remain desperate,

In anticipation,

Counting the seconds in between sighs,

As if it is a type of code

That you can uncover.

Why is it we have the constant fear,

Of hearing things that hurt us,

When not hearing things at all,

Can be just as devastating

Than any word

That can be said.