I went fishing this morning; I felt the need to get away;
The rat-race kept on turning, though, without me for the day.
My bait was unsuccessful, but nature's lure pulled me in.
I sank into a quiet lull in the still of summer's wind.

"Appearances are everything," the thought invaded my rest.
I ceased to hear the crickets sing or the robin's soft request.
Beneath the luring silence the darkness cried to be heard;
the stillness masked a violence. I grew dizzy, and I squirmed.

The planet is in chaos, hurling through the open space,
and twisting on its axis on a never ending chase,
churning round and round the sun at speeds I could not dream,
the roar must drown out everyone; Would I be heard if I dared scream?

I thought of other fishing holes where men escape to find themselves.
I thought of other hurting souls, as my tears began to swell.
The roar of a billion hurts filled my ears as I stopped to pray.
So, I hurried back to work; I felt the need to get away.