Caveat: Poem #2950 “The detaching”

ㅁ
I think the silence isn't there.
 Instead, the world is random sound,
but all inside, a constant blare.

I think the silence isn't there.
 A buzzing rules the inner air,
all meaning's lost, like sailors drowned. 

I think the silence isn't there.
 Instead, the world is random sound.

– a triolet.


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