There is nothing in the tranquil.
Only the silence.

There is nothing of the lonely.
Only the quiet.

There is nothing within self.
Only the solitude.

The ferocity of hate.
Needs the company of those we rail against.

The terror of love.
Needs the one we fear to lose.

But to stare down the empty barrel
to ken the road that is free of traffic
to walk on in the barren
to choose to see the disparity between

The mundane joy, the tranquilized,
Happy is all, all else is wrong
And reality, in its beautiful sorrow.

That tears and pain are feelings wrought in the iron fires of a soul that lives.
That anger shapes and changes a landscape flat and unfeeling.

There is everything in those that grasp life's darkness.
Only the meek need the company of fools.

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