"In Silence" by Thomas Wolfe

In Silence

Was it not well to leave all things as he had found them,
In silence, at the end?
Might it not be that in this great dream of time
In which we live and are the moving figures
There is no greater certitude than this:
That, having met, spoken,
Known each other for a moment,
As somewhere on this earth we were hurled onward
It is well to be content with this,
To leave each other as we met,
Letting each one go alone to his appointed destination,
Sure of this only, needing only this--
And silence only,
Nothing but silence,
At the end?

[Since Wolfe's poem poses a question, my answer is no. The silence is part of the music, the vibrations of life that we cannot hear living, but perhaps we will become when we pass. His phrase "hurled onward" described for me that feeling of being put on this grief journey--not my choice, I was hurled to this path with Caitlin's death. And the letting go, is excruciating and once again, there is no choice but to surrender to it.]