Silent, I will remain.  

Don’t give away too much.  

Do you remember  

you observed my silence once,  

and it scared you.  

It made you think about your own words,  

because I would not give you mine.  

 

My words are powerful.  

Poetic.  

Not so easily given away anymore.  

 

If you receive a one word answer,  

it is because the question  

was not worthy of more.  

Yet still,  

you wait for me to speak.  

 

You say my words are hurtful.  

Unnecessary.  

Unforgivable.  

Then you won’t miss them  

when I withdraw  

into the inevitable hush  

of my own choosing.  

 

My children do not hear me.  

I speak with parental passion

they speak in modern vernacular,  

a tongue I do not wear comfortably.  

I have tried  

to tailor my voice  

to fit their ears.  

Desperately,  

lovingly,  

fiercely.  

 

 

But silence  

is now my ending.