Thank you, doors.
For your unerring ability
To obliterate
That which could, in other circumstances, reverberate
And destroy.


Life is noisy.
Earplugs scant.
Peace rare.
Quiet impossible.
In the pertinacious stillness of action
Lies the vagrant merry-making clamor of thought.
The devil’s workshop bristles with activity
I studiously observe.


His influence is behind
My need for silence.

And you demurely oblige
Gently wading to a shut.
Insistently insulating.
Many thanks.
I need it. You.


One thought on “Doors

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