Silence exist without a sound,
the Saint knows what its thinking.
It pours itself to all a round,
and all around keep drinking.
The world it works with all its words,
to keep itself on reading.
So it does not starve from death,
the poet most keep feeding.
Feelings pour within themselves.
of death and love and laughter,
To all the living.
Think of this.
Silence is,
Thereafter...
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