Acrid by Nicole Barth [4/16/13]

Silence runs rampant in the playground of the night.

It stops and shudders, twitching so slightly
before changing course.

Its footsteps reverberate,
forever repeated by the earth on which it treads.
The shivering ground: blades of grass quiver.
The midnight wind is troubled.

Because in the end,
yes,
always the end,
Remember what is left unsaid.