… And This One Thing

This, I know, is true.

Between these words lie meaning,

Blatant and obscure,

Obviously camouflaged

Within white spaces

Surrounds by darkened lines;

Razor sharp yet, oddly, blurry.


Empty Quietude

Is there no respite 

From cacophonous onslaught?

Grave silence beckons

Offering some false solace; 

A dulcet Siren,

Singing softly of retreat

From all worldly suffering.

Oh, that hollow call,

Promising a warm embrace

In the frozen earth.