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The Quiet

staring at the ceiling
with no ryhme or reason
 dreaming up tales
of high seas and high treason

i ponder my nothings
in the Quiet

speculating about time
and life and romances
planning my life
like coreographers plan dances

i plot out my course 
in the Quiet

praying for my sins
and for errors and vices
for forgiveness of past
and present enticements

i make my amends
in the Quiet

babbling nonsense
'bout liquor fed streams
thinking about our skins
and how we're made with no seams

i throw all sanity to the wind
 in the Quiet

now nodding my head
i drift near to slumber
where i'll dream  first of love
then of armies torn asunder

i now lay vulnerable and sleeping
in the Quiet

Copyright © | Year Posted 2008

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