Sometimes simple is sublime.
Stillness –staying in stasis, sessile, soundless and serene–
Seems so slippery when surrounded by seas of stridor.
Shrill shrieks slush in the sodden salon.
Shush, screamers! Sheesh.
Sullied slippers slide serpentine, swishing as they slither.
Sick sty. Sucio!
Swinelike slobs slobber.
Sloppy sad souls.
Smarmy sycophants sell substandard supplies.
Selfish sad souls.
Still, sometimes a small silent space seems simply stellar.
Stymied, soon to sleep, I smile satisfied.
Suffice it to say, stillness is my solace.