The day has come, everyone speaks dizzy. Their arms are that of a sponge, while mine are so


new. I am the diamond in the coal, the snow in the creek, the lamb with the wolves, the laughter


in the teen flick. So quiet is the lamb. All silent as I am. So few cares fill my head. What a lie


we’ve taught ourselves. The quiet are usually right. Eighteens a number of mine. A simple word, I


like to cheer. Relieve my pain, wash my eyes, shoot the breeze with those whole, and then ask


why: Why be so pale when all is promised?