Unspoken Truths

For Aunt Ruby, Uncle Hubert and Donald

No words are spoken.  Still this silence speaks,

No silence in synapses.  Thinking there

Inside the minds waits.  Patience slyly seeks

For something, scarlet bliss or quiet blare

Of revelation.  Either one will do.

A funeral or wedding is a place

For meditation.  Both can give a clue.

The petals in a funerary vase,

The purple and the white, those solemn sweeps

Themselves are just as clear and silent as

White roses in the bride’s bouquet.  It seeps

Out meanings, for the groom an Alcatraz.

  So silence can be loud for some:  in death

     For burials and in the baby’s breath.

~ Phillip Whidden