The silence was not deafening

The silence now took on the moan of a dying something, low, excruciatingly lengthy cries of pain.

News like that hits hardest, and hits the most sudden. 

"low voices, in loving memory of," 

"bowed heads, my condolences"

"sorry" 

The silence was not deafening, it was the sound of reluctant acceptance.

The silence was alarms ringing, sirens blaring, trying to out noise the other, white noise against white noise.
Bigotry is bigotry when nobody stands up

"typing, you are not trans you are gay"

"mocking, Mr or Mrs?"

"stop"

The silence was not deafening, it was the sound of reluctant defeat.

The silence was never quiet. 

Loud and hurt, never quite quietly hidden.

The silence shows more, is more, tells more

Than me showing you my pain, my suffering, my scars, my wounds, my sores.