Sirens scream outside, far away.
Maybe another conscience going by?
Life comes and goes all the time
For what in this world never dies?
The wind blows gently, while crickets sing.
It is but a quiet Autumnal night.
Under the weak light of my lantern,
I (insomniac) decide to pour down some verses.
But, then again, what's the use of words,
When we have this warm, all-embracing silence?
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