Everything evens out at the end; even the heartbeats,
The breaths, we take for granted settle
Into silence. Silence just before
The storm of life commences,
Silence, after the storm subsides.
But isn't it for the others, always?
Where do I find it, the hallowed silence,
A shelter in the storm that I can
Create, whenever I want.
Not before nor after. But during.

It could be the end
Of the world; it could be
Her not listening to my last word,
The epiphany. Time holds still.
The breeze, ever so subtle, surrounds
The cocoon, dissipating,
Disintegrating into tiniest sapphires.
I stoop, gather the glittering shards with my palms
To preserve them would be futile.
I feel the numbing cold, how soon
Would it be that she is beyond
My revelations, how soon
I realize I am no God.