Nothing Is Unstable
Silence is a vacuum, absolute,
Noiseless and empty and resolute;
What's heard in silence cannot be unheard,
Filling all space, demanding to be heard.
Sonic oscillations can be tricked
By quivers' reverse of arithmetic;
Equal and opposite noises are commutative,
Cancelling what's tympanicly reverberative.
Is hearing the silence hearing twice as much
As what's there, but unheard as such?
Are we really all alone in quietude?
Or are we merely the opposite of another's solitude?
Is it gossamer cacophany?
Collapsing in singlarity?
Is it really reality's lull,
Or are we merely the final sound at all?