To live in a shell, the shell of a nut, a dark brown walnut,
The kind you would brush as a stain on a hand carved, wooden lock.
Locked down inside, breath trapped, a cage with no lid.
Heterogeneous contents with human soul and a chatter-tap heart
Mouth sewn shut to the reverb of sound.
Lamented thread, spun for alternative purposes, was quick to teach the lesson of silence.
Pinprick trickling deep red shushes, permanently drawing orbicularis oris to a close.
This lesson taught in gentle, concave confinement of the walnut;
No screams, not a tear, no whimpers;
Instead a gentle hum, a subtle pathway to some kind of zen
Reverberating throughout the darkened trunk of the tree.