Is it the silence of all remains of civilization,
willowing their thoughts on the threshold-
of humanity, crying to be born out of-
the crest of creation?

Or is it the soft penetrating sounds of-
birds chirping, singing in their-
harmonious tone, nesting on the-
foundation of what is love?

For if you cannot find peace within-
yourself, there is no reason to look-
somewhere else. For to look is like-
a withering flower, crying to be born-
out of the pedestals of society.