A Teacup Full of Stories

There is a silence in this space, that permeates

No further than these four surrounding walls,

Cool glass of frosted window pane blocks out

The noises of the street outside, and I am thus

Alone;

I can still hear the drifting voices, beyond these walls,

What merriment is thus conveyed in soft reverberations of my mind,

But I,

I do not venture out to find them, but rather

Sit, and listen, outside and inside and nowhere,

In the softness of silence

Within my four walls and behind my pale glass,

Listening to life go on beyond.