Pleonasm in the Growlery
In the silent quiet, I find discovery, that hidden seclusion is exceptionally rare.
In my sanctuary, a haven’s refuge, I gruntingly growl in my growlery lair.
A place where shaded darkness shadows dancing movements with whispered sighs,
and lonely solitude embracingly grasps encouraging comfort in binding ties.

Here, in this place, light illuminating dingy dimness freely gives pardoning reprieve.
I shelter in retreat finding consoling solace in what I faithfully believe.
It is a true fact that in the quiet silence, I hear repeating echoes of my soul’s spirit,
occurring as mumbling murmurs of disgruntled discontent. Do you dismayingly fear it?

No required need for wordy discussions where reflective thoughts revealingly unfold,
In the tranquil refuge, where grievant complaints are in revealing stories told.
Where fussy grumbles disintegratingly dissolve in the quiet hush of atmospheric air,
and worrisome anxieties separately unravel with gentle tender, vigilant care.

In this close proximity past history repeats again when timely clocks take on a delayed pause,
as I wander aimlessly within my inside space, holding in an embrace, my imperfect flaws.
A repeating pleonasm of peaceful quietude, where my growlery residingly exists,
and calm serenity reigns in sovereignty in quiet silence where I can simply purely be, persists…

Obligingly allow me to circle around to my safe sanctuary where I can be in existence, be me,
that each and every redundant pleonastic plea begging for calm tranquility’s imposing decree,
to let me, myself, in my home, my house, my growlery be, not only merely in alcove nooks,
anticipatingly awaiting, that which is given free in every chamber room, my library of books.