How Silence Keeps Time

Some silences teach.

I’ve held my tongue long enough
for the room to finish its thought—
the respect I was never afforded,
hands folded where a sentence could’ve lived,
eyes fixed on the clock, learning
how silence keeps time.

These days I am constantly learning
the fine line, a frayed rope
between surviving and striving—
thin as breath, heavy as choice.
And still, I refuse
to surrender,
to collapse before finishing.

Keeping my word,
refusing to wait
for “Later” to arrive

dreams running from room to room,
promises unattended, 
doors left open,
empty of presence—

a ghost of what could’ve been

dusty with quiet, holding the shape
of an unfinished sentence
before it hardens into silence.



M.R. Jones