August 12

It's in these silent moments
One can begin to see
Feel the subtle drumbeat against the ribs
Or at least imagine it is there
Tell the universe that all is well
One cannot know what one doesn't know
If we don't see it, hear its cries
We will not take it inside
This cocoon of quiet will
Act as shield, but also serve as
Prison. Protecting and Preventing
One from feeling all the pain
So even though it's cozy and
Offers an opportunity for
Reflection and discovery
One must return to the chatter
To the constant flow of noise
To take in the information, let it burn us to the bones
Then join our voices to the cacophony
In the opes we'll make a song


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