Tuesday, August 17, 2010

One With One Of Two Halves.

Only moments after I took my seat,
Chosen well, and quiet too,
That I found myself surrounded.
Not only by insects and birds, the company of my choosing,
But by men. Loud. Industrious.
Working not with tranquility, like the ants,
But against it.
Just as I had chosen the rhythm given to me by the midday,
They had formed a conflicting rhythm,
Conflicting with myself and conflicting with all things.

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