The Silent Sea

The Silent Sea

Angela R. Watts

Hello silence,  my old friend,

I have come to see you again,

Though the winds change,

I find you in my range.


The surface of this sea,

writhes, turmoils, crashes and roars;

In your silence I see,

The sea is boiling under the still surface.


Do I recognize the silence,

do I see the depths,

of a sea that lays silent,

and the silence screams and screams.


Not a ripple to be seen,

not a wave to be shored,

time does not exist so keen,

and the colors slow.


Top of the sky,

falling to the bottom,

scavenge for the high,

touch the low.


Silence in my ears,

ringing, ringing,

reaching to my fears

step back, fall down.


Forever, forever, falling down,

into the silent sea,

engulfed by the still bound,

under water, the colors chasten.


Here, I see the silence,

The waves churning around,

The surface, the surface, just as silent

as it stays.


Under here, inside me,

The silence claws and pains,

Sinking, surely, is what I see-

And should I fear the silent calls?


My mind is dull, my fingers reach out in the sea,

to the sounds that whisper nothing,

nothing, nothing to me,

The silent sea I have seen.


One with the silence,

one with the depths,

of the world only I know, hence,

all the reason it is silent to me.


Could I swim this sea?

Though the vast surface is still,

the depths leave me to flee,

the raging, dying, silent tearing.


This silent sea,

the picture of perfect solitude,

left all to me;

I have disappeared in this silence.


I am pulled down, the surface now broken;


The surface is screaming, as I plummet slowly to the sea floor;

I see the surface begin to rush and crash, the lonely sighs

are no more, as the water begins to scream and roll.


Of the waters, out of the greatest turmoils and anguished cries;

Standing on the waves, the darkest waters underneath,

and the foamy sea cries no more, under the feet of the figure, it complies,

and the water turns to a calm, azure state.


Of the words of the figure,

I find the waters that engulf me vanished,

and not a drop of water will stir,

I look up, reach out, and the silence is no more.


Upon the water I stand, with my hand in the Calmer’s hand,

Over the sea I look,

the silence is no more, gone from this land,

and I see the water’s calm, and they sing praises instead of crying pains.


-Angela R. Watts







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