Silence, in my uninformed opinion, is kinda poetic. Especially because it doesn't happen too often. I am a cheap person, so I stay on-campus a lot to work, and the silence of the halls is markedly different from the clatter and rustle and echo that fills them when the semester is in full swing. I wish I were more of a poet, but unfortunately, I'm not a bard, which means no poems will be forthcoming regarding the silence of the halls. But the silence, the stillness, has a music to it, where one can hear the whisper of the wind past the windows, the creaking and dripping of the snow outside, the soft rumble of machinery outside, and yet nothing interrupts it.
No, I'm not high.
Stephen King has it right. Say what you will about the fellow, he's not afraid of attaching un-happy endings to his work.
Long live diligence in art!