the frivolous chatter within, fissures in your mind crammed with doubt and guilt, banters that sound like old records
churning thoughts on bedsides ring.
no visitors knocking, no more bartering, close the eyes for deep listening
be not deceived, the sounds of this world are forever convoluted.
the perfect acoustics of silent spaces, grow naturally like the red poppy
make place to be with the tinkle of spring, blue skies and whistling winds.
You’ve been running. Pause. Write in silence now.