The Comfort Quietus

Bleached by loquacious riffraff,
And scathed by pompous conflux,
I quest behind the vanished sense,
In the sepulchre of holy spirits.
The spirits of quietus and silence,
Of mild secrecy in life before birth,
Of dark enigmatic crux in afterlife,
Bent in the hungry tidal warfare,
Of belching sorrows and crummy ease.
Entwined in the web of civilisation,
Of cry,scandal,bruises and misery.
Ripping the threads of entanglement,
I long cannily for a haven to abide.
Cocooned beneath the clamoured arena,
Of voices,wishes, whims and vices.
I live with a penchant for placidity.
Forever and forever.