master or disciple sheep or wolf (Friday's Sunday's Poem, 1)

all which isn't singing is mere talking
e e cummings

all which isn't singing is mere talking
and all talking's talking to oneself
(whether that oneself be sought or seeking
master or disciple sheep or wolf)

gush to it as deity or devil
-toss in sobs and reasons threats and smiles
name it cruel fair or blessed evil-
it is you (ne i)nobody else

drive dumb mankind dizzy with haranguing
-you are deafened every mother's son-
all is merely talk which isn't singing
and all talking's to oneself alone

but the very song of(as mountains
feel and lovers)singing is silence
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Friday's Sunday's poems kick off with my favorite poet ever, e e cummings. When I picked out this poem, I thought at first it was a jubilant celebration kind of poem that matched how I feel on a Friday morning listening to The Killers on my last workday before a big weekend in which I get two days off, and it's a half-day at that...

...but then I looked at that last line and couldn't decide if it was good, or bad. If everything that's not singing is talking to oneself, but singing is silence, then is singing good? Or bad? Is that a Shymalanian twist at the end, a Bruce-Willis-is-Dead moment? Oh, so I should sing, then, I-- Dear God, no!

Or is the silence good?