The Price of a Quiet Man
I listen to the wind, to the silence and serene. I listen and I hear and I am glad. I part my mouth to speak, but have a second thought, I think I ought be pleased by what I have.
If I should want or feel, to do so is to scream, and screaming I’m afraid would break my vow. Though I entered life as such, crying, bloody, and afraid, now it shames me I could have ever been so loud.
A babe’s nature is no sin, only natural and right, and surely then I had no shame or past regrets. What might or would have been, if I’d had a chance to grow, to laugh and dance and let my nature stretch?
It’s much too late to question what I did or didn’t do, much better to just accept it and move on. To analyze or fret would have no benefit, it’s better to just leave it, leave it gone.
To be a Quiet Man, I confess the cost is dear, but the prizes I receive are dearer still. I wouldn’t take the world, to be a louder man. The things I lack are nothing, so I feel.