Silence.

Less words, More thought,
A shelf overflowing with books.
A cup of coffee, vapor swirling up,
Rising like an unformed thought.
A quiet home, she wished for.

A man now sits in the living room,
Head buried in his chest.
She calls it the Devil’s workshop.

A woman scrolls through devices,
Looking for more ill fated people,
To feel a bit fortunate herself.

Love left them years ago,
And now in the debris
Of the broken family,
Lives three lives.
Picking their way
Through the clutter
Of twenty-five years worth
Unresolved issues.
Wake up. Cook. Eat. Sleep.
Stuck in the purposeless
Daily routine.

Silence came. Thick, and stuffy.
A silence louder than she had wished.
A silence of unspoken words,
Of ingratitude and grudges.
Silence of a pretend family, 
That had forgotten to smile together.

She wished for a different silence today.
More permanent. More final.

A glint of sharp silver,
A flow of thick red.
With the embrace,
Of the Eternal Silence,
She found her quiet home.