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.