Running frightened from the spot light, it tangles in the web of the spider where its shell rests. The abyss isn't far. The beautiful chimes look peaceful and sound grand as they sound off.
The aphids are no more when the wasp harbors near.
The bird flies away at the sight of a dog.
The bird doesn't peck the wasp.
The chimes ring again.
Oh, the high tones.
Oh, the low tones.
All together.
The wind blows.
They sound again.
And again.
And again.
It penetrates nerves from the inside and ruptures them.
Oh, how will you cease your sound? Can you not stop and love the quiet? Once more just quiet! Resting on the stone is a rose to cry a tear. The wind blows and silence triumphs.
