Little by litte, the silence ebbs

And by the wisp of a wind I brush aside

Helpful and unhelpful


Tangled amongst the tranquil corners

Grey, glistening dew-stained cobwebs

Chaotic intertwines with calm

My little noislets.

A/N: The mind is strange. It can listen to sounds and synthesise words that make no sense and yet come together in surprisingly sound harmony. This poem was borne of a fit of boredom.