If, for now

If a quiet moment exists
It is for my ears only
If there is a stillness
It’s not found within

If easy it stirs,
Then bearing bright sunshine
And squalling, frenetic
When ushering gloom

If ever the motion
Grows weary, too certain
And wonder becomes
That which I entreat

If mundane succeeds
Anticipation
It will be stasis
I’ll mourn in the end

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