The shape of silence

I could not fathom the shape of silence,

The intentional and the unintentional.

The intentional seemed to torture me,

To my wits ends.

And the unintentional seemed to put me,

Into the blackhole of oblivion.

I could not fathom the complexities of silence,

Its solemn sound and a continual melancholy,

That walked in, along with it.

The broken dreams it portrayed,

Through waves of massive grief.

Or perhaps, the waves of an incomplete,

Understanding, an interrupted conversation,

It depicted.

I could not fathom the uneasiness of silence,

The weapons of mass destruction it bore-

Those pointed glares, or the stolen glances,

Or the avoided ones.

The stillness of the face it impersonated,

With the storm of emotions,

And the chaos of menacing thoughts,

It put the heart through.

I could not fathom the dread of silence,

The untold threats it instilled in minds

The undiscovered gloom,

It spread within the heart,

Which could neither be countered, nor be evaporated.

The unimaginable crisis it created,

Within the depths of the soul

All, unanswerable, as ever.

I simply could not fathom the shape of silence.