A door slams in the distance,

Echoes crawl through the air,

Rattling windows like unsettled breath.

The clock ticks with too much purpose—

Each second a stone thrown into calm water.

Somewhere, a dog barks

In syncopation with the buzz of unseen lights.

Teeth grind.

The universe creaks in its skin,

Stretching taut over the framework of hours.

A pen drops,

Metal on wood,

The sound of a falling star.

Nothing is still.

Even silence shifts in its seat,

Tapping fingers on the armrest of the mind.

Noise isn’t the enemy.

No, the war is elsewhere,

In the space between a thought

And its endless friction.

Nails on the fabric of now,

Pulling at the edges until frayed.

Is there a way out?

Or is there simply a way through?

An ant walks across the floor,

Unaffected by the weight of sound,

By the click of keys or the hum of machines.

Its legs move in perfect rhythm,

Unbothered by the chaos surrounding it,

Unafraid of the vibrations of the world.

What wisdom lies there,

In the smallness of the steps?

Perhaps the noise only fills

When given shape,

When given meaning beyond the moment.

One breath passes,

Then another,

The clatter remains, but loses its sharpness.

A cup shatters,

The ground does not tremble.

There is no silence,

Only a settling...

A quiet that blooms amidst the noise.