The Quiet One

The quiet one stares,
at nothing in particular.
The loud one sings,
with verbosity and goodness,
but the timing is unclear,
and the fans of love,
dance lightly to a devil’s beat.
So the quiet one speaks,
barely above a whisper,
“What is the song?”
But it may or may not be there.
If it’s either in the cumbersome of my head,
Or the ambiance of the night,
There exists no harmony,
Unless noticed by both,
So the loud one weeps,
But the quiet one stares,
At nothing in particular.


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