There is a comfort to the quiet,
But anger builds in anticipated dissolution.
There is solace in the soundless rising of the sun,
But the peace is always shattered and broken.
Simpler thoughts rest easier and lighter
In a mind not yet burdened by why’s and weights.
There is guilt in the thief’s conscious reckoning.
Realization of one’s selfish search falls hard.
There is a relaxing rhythm to the breaths and beats
You only hear when none try to be overheard.
Unrestrained beliefs can finally sigh to life
In a heart not yet constricted by convention.
There is, however, an absence that palpates
The mind and quickens the other self.
There is a nothing that wants to know only
The nothing it has come to know and name.
The kindness of that quiet can be most cruel
To the soul that soars with a restless yearning.