Blessed silence, my old friend.
I hear no talk the room contains.
There's words I envision wafting,
Sometimes even while I'm sleeping.
Good, the visions that I dreamed of still remain,
As words ... brain.
Within my blessed silence.


In restful dreams I do bemoan
Errors meet I have cop phoned.
Feat done I do rest and vamp,*
I try to turn my collar to my lamp
But my eyes aren't stabbed,
By any kind of light,
There's only right,
That clutched the blessed silence.


And in the wakened me did draw,
My key and blank screen keeping score.
Foresee writing but not tweaking,
Foresee sneering but not gleaning,
Foresee drafting words that I will never share,
'Cuz didn't dare,
Perturb my blessed silence.


'Dupe', said I, 'You did not grow,
Silence means under control
Hear those words and they might teach you
Take that song it just might teach you'
And my words, like latent nonstop jelled
And echoed
From my blessed silence.


Old standby came to my aid
A parody I have made.
Hoping no disclaimer, warning
On the words I was forming,
Just the title said,
'These words writ by someone
They're written not on my walls
My words just do fall'
They whisper in my blessed silence