The Quiet of a Pickwickian World
By Sy Roth

In the silence of my Pickwickian world,
A transcendent quiet stands vigil.
Left to its own devices it rattles around, a
lonely brown-suited courier,
Hefting weighty cargo from one sooty corner to the next.

Seeks tranquility in a world where,
Fettered by golden reins
Hobbled by unceremonial chain mail
Lanced by coronets of thorns,
Astride, a long-in-the-tooth steed
Spurred on to wrestle shredded windmills,
A cavil of unrepentant correctors rest.

And they still come--
Tidal waves of disturbances,
Tsunamis that rip ashore and sweep all away
Into a loathsome pile,
Bilious flotsam of a generation bereft of empathy.


A forced silence clings to the dusty rafters
Where sages once stood
Hanging like KKK castoffs
In a closeted Jim Crow attic of rules and regulations gone mad.

A quiescent quiet demands quiet.
Nestles behind muffled screams
Of ages of piles of rotting flesh.

Dolorous vision of a peaceful world
Where peace packed for a long vacation
To Edens that exist only in fairy tales.
Bring with them untruths of understanding
Swaddled in ******, soiled bedclothes.

Leave me to my silence,
Lave me of the Ash Wednesday smudge
Where realities come home to roost in the dim corners
Where the highwaymen have no access.

...It’s the same old story, each and every time it comes
...Theres no cure so don’t you worry, you couldn’t stop its dawn
...A heart just shattered, tears on the floor
...Unceremonial, unflattered,  simply washed  from the shore

...Cold and distant like the winter, its not your master or your judge
...Indifferent and unpleasant like a splinter, it will make you budge
...Accept it or deny it, it will come for you too
...Altho you wont be there to see it, when its done and through

...so die when you must, and live while you still can
...because when you are dust, no amount of praying will save you than
...you never know, when the day will be here
... so be happy while you can, and dont give up to fear

...Cold and distant like the winter, its not your master or your judge
...Indifferent and unpleasant like a splinter, it will make you budge
...Accept it or deny it, it will come for you too
...Altho you wont be there to see it, when its done and through

...and no amount  of power, strength, praying, or wrath
...is gonna get you back from the cold grip of death

...Cold and distant like the winter, its not your master or your judge
...Indifferent and unpleasant like a splinter, it will make you budge
...Accept it or deny it, it will come for you too
...Altho you wont be there to see it, when its done and through