Muscles are odd, they move,
On their own, except,
For an exceptional few,
With a lifetime of psychiatric,
Drugs, in the system,
A complication for normal society,
They think it's weird, I enjoy it,
It keeps me moving, and,
Thinking twice as fast, as,
Others in the world,
A twist for a new age,
Kind of like,
Oliver,
Twist in the book I just read yesterday,
It looks painful, but it is not for me,
Quite the opposite,
In my opinion,
It usually gives me the shivers,
Every time it passes by,
But I can handle it momentarily,
As I climb back up from the dredges.
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The Silence That Follows
“Silence is not the absence of something but the presence of everything . . . It is the presence of time, undisturbed. It can be felt within the chest. Silence nurtures our nature, our human nature, and lets us know who we are. Left with a more receptive mind and a more attuned ear, we become better listeners not only to nature but to each other. Silence can be carried like embers from a fire. Silence can be found, and silence can find you. Silence can be lost and also recovered. But silence cannot be imagined, although most people think so. To experience the soul-swelling wonder of silence, you must hear it.”― Gordon Hempton
By Paul Stewarta day ago in Fiction
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