Sound
The quiet must be nice for the mind
because it is the only time
I find my inspiration
in a poem. politics. morals
When the noise returns, my thoughts flee
as if drowned out by cacophony.
But when all is still as fallen snow
my thoughts return, sounding loud
So why can't I block out then noise and write?
Why must I wait til the middle of the night?
What is it about sound, people, a group--
that makes what i really think begin to droop?
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