The Hours


It is a quiet day so far

The only noise I hear is mine

Short steps here and there

The creaking microwave

(yes, it creaks when working

sometimes me, too)

Soft murmurs from the television

The illusion that we’re



It shouldn’t have to be

The start of a campaign

A march for quiet times for

For writing or whatever

I’m grown: I should have it

When I need it

Raise some noise

When I want to


Otherwise, the timing of a cenobite

Who wishes only to be left alone

In prayer

A world of prayer

In which the supplicant, petitioner

Enjoys a pure way filled with silent atoms

Paving the way

For all the calls, complaints,

Requests to God


Sometimes too much, I think

The hermit should get out more

If at all

There is a world

The one prayed for

We should know it better

Before closing off

To help it


A fortress of solitude?

Is that why the heroes need one?

Shut oneself off

To better understand

The causes that we fight for

Extract ingredients from the bowl

Before they’re mixed again

Before we fly back to Metropolis

To take it all on



C L Couch



Photo by Keenan Constance on Unsplash

Johannesburg, South Africa