And, when the cliff of evening falls
Into the sea of night,
I wander through my gloomy halls
In search of shards of light.

I look at that, partake of this
And have another look,
Or try to find the source of bliss
Within a leather book.

But these are means of filling in
The gap which is produced
When nightfall silences the din
And birds come home to roost.

But silence is an outward sign
I’m drawing near my inner shrine.

Photo by Anastasiya Dalenka on Unsplash

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