What I hate is the silence,

the quiet resistance like

an underground dungeon

where only the drips can

be heard and your voice

echoes back every time.


The silence and the thick

air weighs heavy between

you and I in this awkward dance

of death around this unnamed

thing that is getting in our way.


Silence it is and no words

spoken more than mere politeness

with even that now strained;

silence as the weapon to gain

an advantage but this is not war..