This morning rose silent,
Not unlike the silences endured, so commonly,
Not so like the confusion of that which is,
an unsilent city.

This sleep hangs drowsily, an air of,
drugged,
drizzling,
tiredness.

And here, oh, so lacking,
A feeling that which is, living,

-A cup of sweet, sweet, dark, silence,
to drown in,
Not so unlike a ritual,
To bring back which we,
without knowing,
crave,

After which the morning does begin,

A cloud of,

drugged,
drizzling,

living.

---

Written late at night, with a cup of coffee beside my keyboard, while I tried to study maths. D:

By Qryous