She is 12 now.

I am observing the silence.

Hers is not a secret uncharted world.

It is just intensely private and quiet…

I’m adjusting.

I am tired.

There is so much left to do.

Staring at a screen with headphones on.

Is that a look of contempt or disdain heading my way?

My quiet phase is going to cause great unrest in the not so distant future.

Was early on a Wednesday.

Banks and trains arrived on time.

I was down to my last million.

But I couldn’t find a dime.

Strangers glared at me in silence.

But you know that’s nothing new.

I was traveling to the government.

And prepared for news gone blue.

There’s no planning for disaster.

That might occur if I leave home.

The masses have lost their laughter.

And I hang my head and write a poem.

Marcus wrote, ‘When you arise in the morning think of what a precious privilege it is to be alive-to breathe, to think, to enjoy and to love. ‘

Now there’s a meditation.

It might be important to note that Mr Aurelius was the last of what was considered to be in Rome…

‘The 5 Good Emporers. ‘ A period of about 200 years that ended in 180 A.D.

Marcus was also a Stoic Philosopher.

The Advisor is still speaking. My response will have to wait.

I know I should be so grateful. There’s so much now on my plate.

There’s this problem I can’t listen. All these voices in my mind.

A warning with some guidelines. With no words described as kind.

I am walking to her closer now. Standing, grinning eye to eye.

The Advisor has gone quiet now. I ask. “You sure it’s not a lie?”

My question has caused confusion. I can see her far off gaze.

She’s going to her safe house, where soft music always plays.

I know it can’t be permanent, someday she will return.

She has so much to teach me and I have so much to learn.

Hell came and left at dawn.

Bright colors ran away.

I rethought what I had on.

Faced my fears and met the day.

Shivers up my back are gone.

Memories had their say.

Changes spoke, I don’t belong.

Bright colors ran away.

I told you push comes to shove.

Run and fight another day.

So true, I don’t believe in love.

Bright colors ran away.

Repeat and rinse…

I was looking for the answers.

Young Earth had just got old.

In a search for cure of cancers.

No one knew or truth be told.

I was reading at the Google.

Hummed a song that Kanye dealt.

I got drunk and played her bugle.

No one cared bout how I felt.

There are answers. I keep trying.

All this time that I could waste.

At the end, there’s no denying.

It’s all God. No copy-paste.

I say, “I don’t care bout the little things.” But mostly, it’s what I do.

I try hard not to say too much. Because really, none of it is true.

Damaged from pain, hard living. Really just rotten to the core.

If I cared about the little things. Then you’d be knocking at my door.

There’s no hope, no silver linings. There’s no possibility for truths.

I was taught by all those scallywags. Changing costumes in phonebooths.

There are lessons in the darkness. There are rules no one adheres.

We don’t care about the little things. We smile brightly, don’t talk of fears.