The silence of forever hovering just out of reach
But by whom is the question now isn’t it?
The silence of forever stretching just outside of my grasp
Now that is quite a different cup of feathers isn’t it? To be sure!
By way of implying forever could not possibly reach me
Outside of my own intervention that is, and why would I?
How hubristic of an affectation
One of many that have gained a sort of terminal velocity
And of there own design perceived but not of my purveyance
Within the microcosm that is me
That which is without is surly within
Nor else my recognition of a thing that is not
Would be impaired by the lack of an ability to preconceive
The lack thereof speaks volumes albeit silently
Of any notion or unexplained inclination
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