Silence

Silence fills the blank space;
it is the loudest sound in the world,
yet there is no movement of any kind.
There is nothing to disturb the halcyon silence.

As gray and dead as a grave,
the room lays silent,
with all its possessions,
an abeyant state.

Strewn across the floor,
lie articles of days far past and gone;
splattered across the walls,
snapshots of a past life.

The serene silence does not last for long,
starting with the scratching of the key,
the creak of the knob,
soon interrupted by the abrupt slam of the door.

A lone figure enters the room,
tossing his bag upon the floor,
carelessly,
swaggering to the rumpled bed,
falling upon it,
heavily.

A faint light pours through the window,
a palpable stream of hazy illumination,
lights up the dust,
flashing,
dancing with the wind,
increased,
with the swirling blades swishing from the ceiling.

White is the color of the walls,
turned gray,
with the absence of light,
interrupted by the faint light streaming
from the hazy window.

Gray and drab are the colors of the bed,
sitting in the corner,
bordering the wall.

The carpet,
soft and worn,
frayed from years of
trampling
upon the floor.

The shelf,
smooth and amber,
hold books,
like Atlas
holds the heavens
in which are stories,
of people,
of history,
of wisdom,
of galaxies,
of faith,
of hope,
far, far away,
so close,
so near.

This place is home.
The retreat with not but the faint voices of the wind,
the sounds of music,
gently whispering.

The sun sets outside,
the amber light dimming.
He closes his eyes slowly,
breaths shallowing,
moving on,
to worlds past,
future,
present,
never.