Elusive Quietude

We dream of silence, pure and still, A space where noise suspends its trill. Yet in the void, a whisper still, hums, For silence never ever truly comes. In quietude, a heartbeat strums, The pulse of life forever thrums. Into such stillness, wily wind whistles will creep, And drips of drops through cracks will seep. The breaths we take, the sighs we weave, The quest for silence, they do deceive. A distant echo, a memory foretold, Reminds us that silence can’t take hold. For even when the world’s at rest, The heart still beats within our chest. And the mind speaks in words unheard Mimicking sounds, quelled and deferred. Even ears when dead and deaf to sounds, Make it up, when tinnitus abounds. For quietude can never ever be true. For its cause is lost in solitude's glue.