Mark, your poem masterfully captures how silence arrives slowly, layer by layer, leaving us to face the emptiness that follows. Through echo and noise, you reveal the fragility of meaning and show how easily we forget what we were truly waiting for.
Thank you, Dawnithic. I’m really glad the layering and fragility came through for you.
I was trying to let silence arrive almost unnoticed — not as an event, but as something that accumulates while we’re busy naming other things. The fragility of meaning felt quieter than rupture, and somehow more unsettling.
I appreciate the way you framed it — especially that sense of forgetting what we were waiting for. That feels very human.
This feels like the anatomy of aftermath. Not the moment of rupture, but what comes after meaning evacuates.
I love how silence here isn’t peace, it’s accumulation, sediment. By the time listening forgets what it was for, the poem has already crossed into that stark, human place where only they remain. Quiet, devastating, and very true
That makes me happy to hear, because you trusted the unflashy part, the staying. Aftermath doesn’t announce itself; it just settles, and your poem lets the sediment do the speaking. The “they” feels human precisely because it arrives after perspective has failed. That restraint is the courage here.
That is such a hauntingly beautiful meditation on the slow erosion of memory and presence—the idea that silence isn't a void, but a gradual sediment, really stays with me ✨
I think in a previous life you were a Tibetan monk. Otherwise, I can’t explain how you understand silence so well. Even the space left between the lines makes room for my thoughts, calming them. Thank you for that.
Thank you for sharing @My GloB 😊
😃
Mysterious and quiet.
until even listening forgot what it was waiting for........... genius.
Really pleased you liked it Margaret.
Thank you 😊
Mark, your poem masterfully captures how silence arrives slowly, layer by layer, leaving us to face the emptiness that follows. Through echo and noise, you reveal the fragility of meaning and show how easily we forget what we were truly waiting for.
Thank you, Dawnithic. I’m really glad the layering and fragility came through for you.
I was trying to let silence arrive almost unnoticed — not as an event, but as something that accumulates while we’re busy naming other things. The fragility of meaning felt quieter than rupture, and somehow more unsettling.
I appreciate the way you framed it — especially that sense of forgetting what we were waiting for. That feels very human.
A wonderful reflection. 💛 🫶 💛
Mark, thank you as well for looking at my comment with such honesty and depth.
😊 😊 😊
❤💛❤
This feels like the anatomy of aftermath. Not the moment of rupture, but what comes after meaning evacuates.
I love how silence here isn’t peace, it’s accumulation, sediment. By the time listening forgets what it was for, the poem has already crossed into that stark, human place where only they remain. Quiet, devastating, and very true
That means a lot Dipti, especially the “anatomy of aftermath.” That’s exactly the terrain I was trying to stay in.
I didn’t want rupture. I wanted what lingers once the noise has already thinned out and no one quite remembers when it happened.
Silence as sediment rather than relief felt truer to me.
I’m glad the shift into “they” landed as human rather than abstract.
Thank you for reading it that closely.
That makes me happy to hear, because you trusted the unflashy part, the staying. Aftermath doesn’t announce itself; it just settles, and your poem lets the sediment do the speaking. The “they” feels human precisely because it arrives after perspective has failed. That restraint is the courage here.
Thank you Dipti!
Trust me, it’s hard not to want to explain sometimes!
A poem to revisit, that’s not just a poem. Beautiful Mark ❤️
Thank you so much Helene ❤️ ❤️ ❤️
I really enjoyed that, the silence coming through and the end, coming abruptly really worked well.
Thanks @Gary L Taylor!
Until they what? You and your abrupt endings!
So loaded. So quick. How?
Haha.
I’ll you decide who They is.
Works out better that way 😁
Thanks @HVR!
That is such a hauntingly beautiful meditation on the slow erosion of memory and presence—the idea that silence isn't a void, but a gradual sediment, really stays with me ✨
Thank you so much Brandi for such a lovely reflection.
I’m really pleased you felt that erosion, as it was a key underlying theme for piece 💛
I think in a previous life you were a Tibetan monk. Otherwise, I can’t explain how you understand silence so well. Even the space left between the lines makes room for my thoughts, calming them. Thank you for that.
Thank you so much @Phoeby.
I love how you feel through the words and not just read them, and reflect back in the comments. It means a lot. Truly.
The lines and spaces between the stanzas really felt like they needed their own space to breathe —silently — so I’m really pleased you felt that.
💛 🫶 💛
This asks to be read more than once.
Thank you Be, and yes 💛 🫶 💛
Minimal and powerful. I’ve been exploring the theme of silence through poetry lately. This hit home
Thank you Maria! Really pleased it found a home with you 😊