The mind is a tree in the wind.
Leaves in the breeze rustle
softly, gently.
In the torrent branches bend
creaking, fracturing.
In the quiet, in the terror
the same leaves rustling
in different realities.
The same sound
heard by all
is understood by few.
It is the sands of the hourglass
settling slowly
settling constantly
Settled.
The wind is silent.
The leaves are still.
Peace upon peace.