Solitude
Is merciful and giving
When your world is enveloped
By a tide of fearsome events

In the horrible maze
Of squalor and ruin
A stillness
So steadily ascends

The quiet, is yours to mold
When the weary winds toll
On their way
From the bedlam of war

The silence
Lives on to provide
To nourish frail dreams
To their precious
Hour of birth