See not the crocus crack its bloom; <br />The evening is still as an endless dream; <br />No screaming child, no tortured men; <br />There is no hiss from a snaking sun, <br />And no report from an unloaded gun. <br />Silence has reigned for a kingdom come. <br />The air plays in the waves no more. <br /> <br />No water splashing on the seashore, <br />No sound in conches held to an ear; <br />Mounds of golden sand stretch without end, <br />And if the moons must revolve <br />They will not react again. <br /> <br />To the observer, who now sits in two <br />Unparalleled dimensions, there are the <br />Awkward points of light, burning above, <br />And the obsessive fear of unwanted flight, <br />Never from below, but above the wastrel breadth.<br /><br />Stan Petrovich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sensory-deprivation/
