really nice

Throw me to the sky

Together in a silence
that holds a worry
about the absence of talk,
that holds a preference
in difference to the prevailing
speak;
not always companionable.
At times it shrieks
inside my head, giving orders
I cannot obey.
Silence is golden
talk is cheap.
Solitude and writing have become
my conversationalists,
is anything lost,
or gained for those we guide,
for those we love,
when words are sparse
and silence holds us all?

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