A poem ...

At Rest

We lie here silent in the dark,

Unmoving and unmoved, for that is best.

Undesired, we desire nothing, and would be

At peace, were peace not something

To be desired, a presence distracting

From the absence we would enjoy,

Could we enjoy anything.

Do not ask us who we are,

Who cannot tell and do not care,

Content to be aware of being. No,

Not content. Say only: Undisturbed.

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