The quiet stillness hangs heavy in the Dark.
One never feels so empty, so hollow, so hopeless and so truly
The days seem long when they are happening,
How can this much of your life have been taken from you,
These are the things one thinks of,
The enormity of Life's flow lost cannot be understood by the young.
It is only after some of those days,
They say the death of a man is the destruction of a great library,
These are the thoughts one has, alone in the stillness, in the dark.
[The poem was not completed, as one thing after another came up, and pretty soon it was morning, and there were things I had to do. I thought about leaving it and coming back to finish the work another time, but then I realized the metaphor was too perfect, and left it was it was. ]
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