The smell of a new day
quietens the fears of an awry night
hence souls are left at ease
after a gruesome sleep.

Each soul wants rest
far from the daily test.
To dwell in a safe haven
born in a pleasant given.

And the troubled ran rogue
as the day loomed into darkness.
A gallery of despoil
and imminent morass scenery.

For the brave, a recur
and the fearful, a high tide.
No peace? Yes no peace!
Oh! And what is left of peace?
the minute lets of pieces.

But peace is sought by all,
a good of credence purely scarce.
Even a witch needs peace
yet she vanishes peace in others soul.

And sighted wrongly
many saw peace as calmness.
Many saw her as noiseless, lonesome and lifeless.
But she is a bird perching on dangling stick amidst a turbulent sea.

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