Quiet Room

Life is lived to make mistakes, the ground, transparent beneath me, and I sink, down into a quagmire, my mind yielding to the manacles, I remember, I tell myself, this is temporary, strive for the silence, the artificial and the serene, I lose sight of what is important and can see only cracked plaster no marble masterpiece, maybe the cracks are what allows truth to breathe, the sun to come bursting forth, truth shrouded in a cast with a stern countenance, heavy lidded look that I share with neanderthal man or he shared with me.

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