Hoarded Silence

and so we made an understanding
to make our fences higher & stronger
& thicker,

we shake our hands and on that very day
we constructed things as planned

we heard some whistling that sound of the
mixing of the cement and sand and gravel

the putting of the blocks and finally the
shushing sound of the finishing touches

since then we could not see their affairs
in the same manner that we have kept strictly

on the privacy of our own events
the visitors that come the drinks shared

we know there is peace now
nothing of the old disturbance but when

everyone leaves to occupy their own private places too
what stays behind is the hoarded silence, this loneliness.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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