The quiet of night. Just the ac running next to me, no one in the world is awake but me. Alone I sit, alone I stay, this is all there is all there will be, nothing moves, just quiet sounds. The fridge hums the chair squeaks. My mind and me, along again. This is what it is. This is quiet.
A poem about it, that I did write, to quiet to even dare to type. The noise is all but gone away, it will come latter today, for now its nice and I do breath, hear the air moving it seems. Along the way I do inquire, what will change and when will it be, what will I make of this destiny? Is there anything more in life, other then all the insane strife? Yes, there is hope and love. Even if there is no god above. Just humans all around, yet none make a sound.
Quiet is where we are.
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