The world waits in silence—
The kind of silence that one
Wouldn't be anxious for, yet is.
How so must I believe,
Believe that the nagging corners of my mind
Do wander in excitement, in glorious, splendid excitement—
For things that are to come?
The world rolls on, unimposing and unimpressed with what little one supplies it.
Eating it like one would eat an apple—
Or a bit of cheese—
Caring not for what makes up of it,
But the wholeness of the experience itself.
Must we all strive to these standards?—
(But the silence is to stay for we command it).