They begin to gnaw away.
Upon my mind they are, flee
I into the light of day!
Noise creates a perturbed soul,
Plays upon the mind's sad state.
Yet the silence takes its toll
Upon this poor sad reprobate!
Upon the verge are my feet,
Standing on the edge of time.
Temporal things seek to beat
Draw me back with meter and rhyme.
They draw closer, their dull chants
Become a sort of mad chill
That feels like parading ants
Upon the spine, kills my will!
Inevitably my heart breaks,
It can no longer take the toll.
This musical chant sill rakes
My mind of solace, doth annul
Sanity as though it were such
That it could be divorced from
The soul as with a single touch.
Now joins them a deep filled drum...
Without is a sea, a stormy sea,
Within is chaos, eternity
Leaping up to wrench away
Temporal powers of the day.
No peace, no peace at all...
I am so close now, I fall
Into this chasm, this abyss...
And find sweet joy, sweet bliss.
Not what I thought, not what it seemed.
I cannot tell, I could not have dreamed...
In the silence of my heart remains
What I have seen, like blood stains
Have these images created,
Upon my soul they've instigated
What can only be thought of as life;
freedom from noise and strife.
On Noise and Silence, (c) Luke Bennette, October 2012
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