Prevailing Silence By: Yeilis Quintana Ramirez

The little precious song, the song of the birds in the spring, the song of your laugh as I sing, the song of the world as it spins.

The water dark as it pools, making us all look like fools, making the sky a huge mirror, making the heavens look wider, drowining the singing, the songs...

THe wind blowing without qualm whatever was left of the dust, whatever the drowining left by, whatever once made me feel calm.

THe dust flying, you see, makes it all a huge bay, in which the water that bathe us both doesn't have any say. And there's no one with me. Everything has flown for my side.

THe world has come crashing in, but people still go by.

The song as it goes, seems to have a sudden end, the water has come crashing, the heavens look ahead. The dust rears its head. Nothing at the end can be granted, by that which so little weights. So the song becomes a riot, and the wind taking its part makes distraction from the fools, which in it took such faith.

So you see, there was nothing to be done, about the foolish children's song for there was so much at the end, which forces hands and heads.

To the fortunate that make up stories, please make one for those who cry, for the mute children who deny, that as quiet as it sings, the song prevails the silence.