Sometimes I write my
silence in an unseen space,
where plebeian hearts do not feast or decipher.
Sometimes my writings are spoken
in helpless quiescence,
doubled ossicles yet, can hardly pick.
Again; its hard to find a
soul that truly ties,
Should the confluence of men meet,
I am persuaded their is peculiarity in me,
Not intimidated by the vast innovations that surround,
I believe lurked within is still a voice waiting to be heard,
It doesn't matter how confused the society may be,
The stillness on the inside can calm the storm on the outside,
A companion to share with, makes the journey somewhat unsolitary.
Blessed is that man who finds a soul to understand these communications.
CPB: Devoted to you
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