deepundergroundpoetry.com

Silence is a virtue

Something lands, bites then flies away.
Oh, the mundanity and quiet rolls over me now,
the white chairs, the paved grass, the weeds growing through the cracks like my life attempting to break the stone defences. All is quiet. All is still.
A riddle of time vs. life vs. death. There's wet dew on the ground and I'm still.
A yellow candle flickers and crackles to my demise. All is quiet.
I am still. The bed fondly invites my back away from the half open curtains.
All is quiet. I am still.
Written by ImperfectedStone (The Gardener)
Published
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