You know it’s quiet
When you hear
Your own breath.
It tends to paralyse
And mesmerise.
I need to get out,
See people.
What people?
In the street
I smell the restaurants
And the stale
Ale of the pubs.
I hear youthful laughter
And distant chatter;
The occasional car drives by
And nothing seems ok.
I Don’t believe
It has to be this way.
The stifling quiet
On a stifling day.
Look up,
Look around.
See what’s lost can be found.
