There is a deafness
on king's road,
no leaves fall ancient
into a crisp death,
or single cat
whispers from a grave
as tuneless as
the song (in mourning).

Silent and serene,
gone is the useless
fragrance of humanity,
crowds of (voices maybe)
all invisible like
velvet breath and
quiet footprints
tender as tonight.

The tranquil melody of
night is shattered by
strange utterances
on dark corners,
as drunkards
bellow curses and
spit hammers,
a bark against the hush.

Mellow, as the dark
( and days ) fall asleep
under a glorious, gracious
Heaven, king's road
and other streets
and towns are
silent now,
for quiet has its triumphs...