The Silence Roams The Hills

Time flies when you don’t choke on words never said.

But we still do it – choose to make our own death beds

By silencing the little truths that grow into avalanches,

Ready to break down fences and snap dry branches.

And the silence roams the hills, it gains speed and weight.

It echoes through trenches like a loose bullet

You caught way too late.

-JW