I fantasize about silence, in order to have less.  

I fantasize about the silence of a scintillating dewdrop on a leaf.  The rustling of infinite pine needles in a gale.  The noise of a careful predator creeping through reeds.  The heavy footfalls of an ant that shake the ground.  The inexplicable beauty of a foggy, overcast, muggy day.   The sunburst of a sudden realization that –  

Silence is not quiet.  

A man strolls down an alley, completely unaware of

The balcony above him, where a woman cries about

The man that has forgotten her existence

Only to focus, instead,

On nothing.

A woman sits outside a fragrant cafe

Watching the populace stroll onward

But not seeing them.

Only to focus, instead,

On nothing.  

A family eats dinner

Talking about their respective days

But not saying anything at all

The television blares through the room

The loudest occupant of the house, and perhaps the most intelligent

But filled with absolutely nothing, which its owners prefer

To silence, the subtle.   

Silence is the loudest object in the universe.  

What speaks louder than emptiness?  Physical emptiness, emotional emptiness, spiritual?

Each screams out  –  Fill Me Up!  

Not with the purified, cleansed, filtered nothing that you have been

Fill me up with silence!

In order to let the world fill you up with itself.