When silence pours, like rain, in every pore,
amd makes a sound you've never heard before,
and misty takes the place of crisp and clear,
to drive your scares across the frozen fear,
you're safe and snuggy in your little lair,
with TV shots, to dissipate despair,
with snaps and snatches of another time,
when life was young, and evidence was crime,
and whispered were the hints you didn't hear...
Now silence grows a seed inside the seer.
And silently, you is, if you get rid
of every claim, and stake, and every bid,
and lose yourself inside a darkened room,
for dark and warm are both tomb and womb,
and overturned, the lucky silver spoon
is dark, just like the flip side of the moon.
20 декабря 2016 г.