# 463 (field of quiet)

Oblivious

to the world

you keep chattering

trampling through the

reverant field of quiet

crushing my flowers

of awe and stalks of

silence, unbothered by

the needs of others.

The magic of light and sound

has never touched your heart,

the turning heads and hissed

curses won’t help the cause

of cinema’s disciples, so

one word of power

saves the hour

and sour your mouth

might be, yet it swallows

superfluuous sentences

like a baby bird

pre-chewed maggots.

 

© Matthias Grupe, 26th July 2018

Picture: Elijah Flores, via unsplash

 

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