It went all quiet the day I died:
the brazen buzzing of bees --
the daily cantabile of cars and trucks –
the rustling of people flush in their busy lives—
not one sound could be heard.
I listened for the distant bell:
a lone echo
answered my call.
I harkened for the wash of waves
for the birdsong in my bartered garden
waited for the chitter chatter of chipmunks --
Not a chirp emerged through that muffled hush.
Instead, it stayed all quiet.
Silent. Stony. Still.
Like when the sun sings its muted song.
I lay there
quite tranquil, quite quiescent
my soul a-flurry
let the lucence imbue my hazy vision
and waited for the oppressive silence
to cease its ceaseless drone.