So, this is the quiet that you keep.
A tranquility awake in the chaos.
Do you keep to yourself as you hold to a timeline?
Is it inspite of it?
Alone.
In the beginning and in the end,
Who knew what we are.
But in the middle,
What are we if we’re not alive?
Placed away, in the broken dorm rooms
On the third floor, are the world’s half-orphans,
Shelved away, leaving them their place in time, however brief.
So, this is the quiet you keep,
Among the explanations and survival techniques.
Here, for certain, is the clarity
Among the lashes and the cries.
The hollow frustration.
Stoic. Statue. Ever present,
But ever gone
Alone.
Awake.
