Stealth

The silence reaches across the distance to echo in my ears. It is a profound silence, deep and disturbing in its purity. Months go by with the silence still unbroken until, one day, a distant murmur. The words have far to go, across this desert, and they do not echo like the silence. I have to strain to hear them. And even then, the message is garbled, indistinct. I cannot interpret the surface of these words, much less the meaning behind them. Thus all I am left with is the memory of sound and this reverberating silence.

Then there's the shadow, His shadow, and it covers me in night, trying to own me, trying to tie me down and keep me. And it seems that no matter how fast or far I run, searching for the sun, the shadow keeps finding me, suffocating me. The shadow is warm and familiar, but I can see patches of the sun shining through and around it. And even when I'm in the sunlight, the shadow is there, lurking, waiting for a moment to wrap me in itself again. And sometimes...sometimes I think, "The sun is blinding, and I've always preferred the night."
Laters