Its raining outside I can see the drops splashing against the window But is not the old rain that I listened to as I curled up in bed and drifted off to sleep Its silent rain. And from memory I know that there is a large barn owl out there perched on a gate post scanning the long grass for the tell tale movement of a late night snack. But, like the rain, the owl has has also fallen silent. And in their stead is not silence in my head But high pitched whistles, spinning, metal churning Roaring and blowing, and hissing Sounds that do not even exist in the real world. But I can also hear a clock ticking And Its not just in my head, its there in the corner of the room Though its much softer than it once was Its softer than it was last week Softer even than it was yesterday. And I hope that it will not also fall silent.