It is the silence and the solitude that would turn my inside out,
When I look to comfort elsewhere in something I can surmount.
Yes, the journey is unsettling when there’s nothing there for me,
And I run to senses comfort, in what I hear and what I see.
Then my death is less outstanding in a world in my control,
And I find pleasure more in my body and in the world than with my soul.
But the lifespan of the former is mere measured minutes mine
While the soul is taking pictures for eternal time rewind.
So we play the circle daily in and out and round and round
Till we realize in earnest we are hell or heaven bound,
Where this world must be a memory and no one accompany
But the silence and the solitude in the soul that will be me.