By Tommy Currant

 

Ode to the quiet

You shepherds of tranquil hours,

Curators of midnight peace,

Hidden depths, unspoken powers.

Told so often it was weakness

To let your voice go unheard,

Damned as meek or shy or mild,

And in the same breath,

Their criticism blurred, 

For you are such a kind child,

And kind shall be your shibboleth.

For you are one and powerful,

That silent majority,

Over whom the bright and colourful

Crash and rage, a violent sea

Who do not see you when you 

Hold your breathes, tongues or

Sighs. As they cavort in 

Rowdy ecstasy, through

Patience learned long before,

You seek your place among the din.

Laugh at those who tell you

You shall inherit the earth,

For it is yours now. You, who

May have screamed at birth,

But who fell quiet and learned 

That thoughts could live

Unspoken, nurtured by a tender

Mind. And having earned

The right to air, the words you give

Shall sing with righteous splendour.