Silence Is Golden Poem by James Workman

Silence is golden.
Or so they say.
I do not believe this to be true.

Recently, my son and I took a trip
south, to visit my parents.
Some nights, my brother, my son and I
would drive up to the local lake
to go fishing.
Twelve miles
outside a small town,
nestled comfortably
in the rolling hills.

Only one flickering bar
of reception on my cell phone.
Distance effectively
severing the invisible
electronic umbilicus that
tethers us to
our daily lives.

The evenings were definitely golden.
Without electronic interference,
I began to pay attention to
the sounds at the lake
in the slowly fading amber light.

Children splashing in the shallows.
The wake of a boat going by
causing the waves to clap
softly against the shore.

As the light faded,
so did the sounds.
Children put to bed,
boats moored securely
to the docks,
the lake becoming
a great tract
of calm black glass.

In the darkness,
the sky revealed an
innumerable amount of
glittering stars,
the view unhindered by
man-made light.

The silence was complete
in the dark.
The only sounds left
between gaps in conversation
the sounds of breathing,
and the almost imperceptable
syncopated beat of my heart.
It is then that I realized;
silence is not golden.
It is the white-hot color
of the stars.