It’s 2 a.m.
and the world is quiet

Somewhere someone is screaming,
either in horror, ecstasy or pain,
but through all drama,
and all the noise,
a quiet still remain

In some location war is raging,
over freedom, greed or land,
but amidst all the chaos,
and all the struggle,
a quiet is still at hand

In some closed space music thrives,
serving time, emotion or thought,
but past the rhythm,
and all the mood,
a quiet still burns hot

In front of at least one,
ink attacks a page,
recording theory, beauty or song,
but throughout the night,
and at 2 a.m.,
a quiet still lives on