There is a quiet in the room,

shadows accentuate the space,

with plants and books and lamps

and all the makings of a residence.

It’s a place of shelter I suppose

containing its own mysterious well

of fortune and demise. The bounty

is the comfortable setting, yet then

the tragic flaw only being in the eye

of the beholder silently observing.

I’ll let the midnight hour pass

as daily I reckon my surroundings.

Faced with falling into a zone

of apathy I’ll struggle myself to sleep.

It’s there I will try to find myself.