Little by litte, the silence ebbs
And by the wisp of a wind I brush aside
Helpful and unhelpful
Tangled amongst the tranquil corners
Grey, glistening dew-stained cobwebs
Chaotic intertwines with calm
My little noislets.
A/N: The mind is strange. It can listen to sounds and synthesise words that make no sense and yet come together in surprisingly sound harmony. This poem was borne of a fit of boredom.