Silent Meditation Poem by Mark Heathcote

What does it purport to be this silence?
This inner peace, this blessed inner calm.
(Surely) there is no such thing as silence.
Do these sprout stalks from the cardamom?
Make no sound; hold a conch shell to your ears.
Do you not hear far off a distant sea?
Isn't this universe chattering or screaming?
Somehow, like incessantly, you and me?

Abstention is good as long as it doesn't
Separate the ocean, reverberating
My heart shores will sit around a jolt.
Refraining has its good points.
Vibration is matter-reshaping matter.
That's why every snowflake is individual.
No two things have the same strata.
Isn't that why your soul is cognitional?

It is a star-burning grass blade.
It, too, is the keeper of many tomorrows.
Silence is a dead space in between blockades.
When you yawn, your spirit also borrows.
But not from the silence, oh, but not
From this silence, our universe
Singing and mocking with every kilowatt
Molecule and atom vibrating immerse.