Some thing's enter this life with a roar.
A human baby's cry that parents adore.
First breath of announcement or even anguish.
New born arrival comes with its own language.
A New Year enters by fireworks and bells.
Artificial time's passing with songs, chants and yells.
Then there's those that enter by way of silence. No sound.
Like true time shown without whisper by that wrinkle newly found.
Nor does the spider on its web and it weaves.
Or death which enters when the last sigh leaves.
Then do we dare step beyond to see who are the silent that enter?
Like Angels, the unseen, who live at soul's centre.
The hosts of energy, love is their being.
They whisper in the quiet - all-knowing, all-seeing.
