so i thought id post some random poetry shiz. cause thats where all this brain activity came from originally, from what sarah calls the “book days”. wah. i still have those books, and no you can’t read them.
There is no noise with you
No wish to breathe or speak
No desire to move or will to walk
That weakness is not aloof
No demand for grand performance or track of scenery
That quiet is not stifling
It fills, grows and feels inbetween,
No jarring flash of light.
It is the early morning sunrise,
prodding at the birds to chirp.
Sleepiness within their wing,
they sing,
just for me.
It’s finishing my favourite book,
just before the dawn.
That silence does not haunt me
Nor turn me away to dark.
It sits within my head
And lives within my heart.
I could see this. Does that make sense?