Through the Fields

If your voice could be found
Would you wish to do so?
Have you grown so used to
And content without it
That it is no long necessary?
To live without speaking
Is to live and always listen.
You dreamt of driving the fields
of the country last night.
Cruising along in an old convertible-
Hair tousled by the wind.
You could hear the sound
Of your own laughter
As you raised a hand
Into the air.
You knew you could speak
But you did not
To keep the moment pure.