Peace rides with silence;
the sensual calm
ordinary to a small space.
In a vaccum of thought,
evaporated emotions,
lingering attachments,
the owl cries;
bitter black tears, to
mourn dying hours.
Strike your matches!
Measure the night!
The night,
the blanket;
too small, too tight.
Stretch it. Tear it.
Kick at it. Beat at it.
The owl cries;
Giving up? after all,
does it ever cover any of us?

© chrysippus