A quiet hum beneath my marrow wakes,
The smallest vibrations, electrons in disguise,
No pause, no breath, no waiting glance,
A storm beneath the skin, a ceaseless trance.

And yet I lean upon the railing’s edge,
Gazing as moonlight slivers through the trees,
And think the world, just for now,
Agrees that I may stop,
A borrowed calm upon a restless sea.

My lungs still weave their rhythmic dance,
The heart still drums its stubborn tune,
Dreams ferment in the darkened corner
Of sleep that never halts too soon.

The stars combust in frozen grace,
The tide still pulls the sleeping shore,
The cells repair, the comets race,
Time folds and bends, and opens more;
Yet peace pretends to find a place.

So here I am - the grand deceit,
A mind convinced of calm’s presence;
While galaxies roar beneath my feet,
And atoms whirl without retreat.

Still, I call this rest,
For peace was never the absence of motion;
But the quiet surrender,
Where I finally embraced the commotion.