Ambient Silence

Ambient Silence

By Will Burns

 

Brisk wind douses the dying fire,

as chilled smoke billows through my mind,

turning the creative engine forward,

and exhausting ambient thoughts into reasoned morals.

 

Withered leaves rustle among stoic giants,

slowly silhouetting themselves against blue pastel summits.

The clear sky, clouded with delirious shades of color,

sharply contrasts the soft sounds of morning dew,

tenderly pattering against the underbrush.

 

I am alone, completely isolated

and only accompanied by:

formless memories.

The ambient silence of the forest

holds me at the brink of control,

constantly grounding me in the present.

 

Rigid bodies crack against the forefront of my skull,

locked in hyper-focused contention of

primal indulgences and civilized self-control.

I squirm in the dirt, unclean of mind and body,

and desperate for air,

I draw in,

deeply scorching my lungs with each breath;

I am reminded of years past,

and shameless agony engulfs my humanity

until I lie clenched within myself,

twitching to tortured thoughts of just one more

—just one more.

 

Bloody, black tar congeals in my chest

my lungs, the walls of my throat

straining to survive,

to endure their guttural reflexes

of a poisoned body desperately

mining out pure drippings of character.

 

Sweat rushes down my face as

artificial verity swiftly dissipates

into muffled dreams of arcane epochs,

lost in rational decay and

forged by the great ambient symphony.

 

Abrupt tranquility retrieves my focus,

and the ambient silence finally resumes,

almost forgetting not to be noticed.

Breaking my stare from the fire’s embers

I glance ahead;

lightly brushing my pants while

half expecting dust to come off

and half surprised it didn’t.

Cracking my neck

I look back into the fire,

listening to the charred wood scream,

and watching the white smoke eclipse

—me.

 

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