as quiet as

he says there’s nothing in the world
as quiet as a snow,
as painful as the art to hold
and art of letting go
as skillful as the epitaph
to clearly put aside,
as pure as a silent laugh
before its amplified

i tell him there’s an art to live
and craft of breathing in,
you’re lucky if you learn to give
and eager to begin,
no matter what you start anew,
despite you’re bruised and scratched,
there’s cost of anything you do,
untied and disattached

and if the cost becomes too high,
you’ll learn to unexpect,
since it’s the only way to try
stand honest and direct,
there’s nothing in the world as quiet
as notes you cannot hear,
so put your ugly thoughts aside
and play to someone dear

and then you look above your head,
each cloud up there has seams,
but things by which you were mislead
can’t hold you off your dreams,
as grounded as you walk on earth,
as slippery your way,
remember everything you’re worth,
and all you’re meant to say

he says there’s nothing in the world
as quiet as a snow,
as painful as the art to hold
and art of letting go
and so i promise i will learn
stay thorough and tranquil
his music echoes in return:
i will
i will
i will