In cities, silence rules. In awkward ways,
the silence creeps along the edge and makes
its presence known. Through all the tides and quakes
of man, the cars and shrieks and fights, these days
consume the sounds. New York becomes a tomb,
LA a muted curse: the people swim
in deep, cold tides. The water dulls, makes dim:
stifles voices, cuts through prayer too soon.
She moved from farm to town, and left her meaning
clear; no more could country quiet bind
her aching heart and feet. She dropped her name,
assumed a face, and walked among the living.
Youth let her seek a life that's hard to find
when cities lie silent, dull, and seek no fame.