[NicknamedBob]

Quiet, Too Quiet

There is a quiet time of evening that can lull you to your rest,
And quiet in a busy house is rare, one can attest.
The quiet of a street when traffic has been tucked into its bed,
And the quiet of a child asleep, his halo overhead.

The quiet of a library seems purposeful and tense,
The hush of darkened alleys that are filled with grave suspense.
A dismaying lack of sound occurs when batteries have died,
And only mournful clicks result when keys are once more tried.

The quiet of a hushing when you are the one discussed,
And the quiet sotto voce of a mutter of disgust.
Sometimes quiet comes to hearts that hurt a lot,
And quiet’s often given when you give it all you’ve got.

I sit here in my room and have a quiet contemplation,
To wish our critics would be still about our nation.
“Be Quiet!” I heard as a child. I’d like to shout it out,
While the stealthy ones among us do the job that they’re about.

NicknamedBob . . . . . . . . . . . . . December 3, 2006

[luvie]

Beautiful and very true, Bob!

[oneamericanvoice]

Great work, Bob!

I too have that feeling, and my voice is loath to be so still, so I take it to the corner where our critics know nothing of quiet or respect.

We can be silent no longer! For as our bravest stand on the front lines countering a evil who so fervently wants our destruction, we must stand against the those within who so vociferously back that enemy.

[The Mayor]

Excellent, Thank you.