The Silent Room

They lie there, each on a bed, never moving.

Time passes them by in brief flashes,

But their minds are on another plane.

It’s eerie in these quarters,

Where noise and motion are obsolete.

The grey walls surround the bodies

And create a feeling of being packed under the dirt.

Any visitor would feel as if they are suffocating;

The thinning air neither affects nor stirs the silent figures.

In a world of constant motion and light,

Filled with joy and laughter, hope and energy,

This silent box is full of discomfort;

For even in our presumed silent quarters,

A noise perpetuates through the air:

A clock ticking, a fan whirring, children playing outside.

Here, all senses are dulled.

They do not hear. They do not see.

They do not hope or wish or dream,

And that is the worst of it all.

But maybe they find peace in the silence.

No disturbance can harm them there.