THE COMFORT OF QUIET

By Charles Robert Lindholm

There Is An Inner Joy
And A Keen Realization
That Comes From Gazing
At A Midnight Sky
Filled With Countless Stars

Noisy Silent Nonsense

That noise is mostly silence
Like chatter in one’s mind,
Like giggling done by things that run
And wanting only to have fun,
But fun is hard to find.

Lost words

 

Shouting, the sea roared
and my words were lost
Carried away as flotsam
on foaming waves
intent only on their
own cacophonous noise

Nonet:Pain

cacophony of thousand voices
as tense bubbles in boiled temper