It is so quiet in the inside
In the stillness of the mid night hour
I hear nothing but myself
In the emptiness of time
and drowsily I see faintly,
A singular streak of
Silver moonshine
Play silently upon the
Somber pleated curtains
Aimlessly, incoherently,
Around
Dark shades of dark darkness.
But there is no movement
No ache no pain
No thoughts, lingering tirelessly,
Upon the settling mind
And there is some heavenly emptiness
Invisible in her drowsiness
Purged in ethereal delights,
So unlike the dim street lights
Casting nothing but
Long deep shapeless shadows, by the
Lonely pillars, standing weary
By the quiet street-side.
Yet there is no loneliness
No fear no consciousness
And all that I want
In this sudden burst of ethereal sublimity
Is to purge myself deep
Into this quick slipping quagmire,
Spiraling uncontrolled
Into the comforting lap
Of that sublime subconscious sleep
Wrapped motherly, secure in the warm
Blanket of nothingness
Echoing far from my aching soul
Oblivious to all of the
Quiet in the inside.