Silence is running water to my soul while it is devastatingly parched

I am flat on my back reaching for something, never will I grasp

It comes much too infrequently these days to afford me to concentrate on the middle

I know, I’m rushing through all of the rest

Silence is a hot bath on a winter night, while my robe awaits

Everything is on the top shelf and my diminutive structure prohibits my reaching it

Silence is light broadening the width of a room

I’ll never know

I’m over here with all this damn noise

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