I love to sit in silence.

Its the only moments I notice,

I truly don't exist.

That me being me,

means nothing,

not even to human.

That in this moment,

this silent moment,

whatever I am,

is lost in the abyss.

Whatever one deems me to be,

holds no merit,

while I sit in this room,

silently.

To be so plagued with intention.

To need interpersonal interaction.

To need eyes,

sound,

touch,

just to be someone.

Im reminded of the tree,

as it stands alone in the forrest.

And,

pondering minds wonder.

When it drops,

does a sound commence forming?

If,

the absence of perception,

means to human,

it goes unnoticed?

I have not lived a life,

surrounded by painted minds.

Minds so intrigued,

they attempt to color in every line.

To define,

what I in mind,

would essentially never try.

The worst thing about such a life,

is not knowing,

what they define.

So in this silence,

is where I shall reside.

Until,

im confronted with a mind,

I truly find,

divine....

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