It was silent,

Always silent, far too silent, as if they were in a waking nightmare,

forced to repent

for no wrong done, the only sounds their own harsh inhales of air

It was silent for a long, long time

They didn't quite know how long

In the meantime they grew a collection of little weeds that grew under their cell's barred window, tiny buds of grime

So far they were at number nine, and they were still counting on

That wasn't counting the two that had died

But, as they glanced at the two wilted things,

They couldn't help but find the spirit had calmed and that they were dry-eyed,

Not quite accepting, but more understanding of Fate's threads and strings

There was certainly a lot of time to understand

And to think and reflect

In that silence, the damned

Thing of ever so many aspects

It was silent