Listen
Hear how the pitch varies yet stays constant
Silence permanently halted by that
Which processes it.
We are forced to mould pain into peace,
Sleep forced into the lack of,
There's no cure.
There's no remedy for calamity.
No homemade soup
or store-bought pills.
We who are diagnosed are dissidents against the police of
silence.
Listen now.
Hear the perfect consistency,
A straight line
in one ear out the other,
Like a power line from one pole
To the next.
It hurts.
A string of pain connecting each ear drum,
making sure that well notice if it misses a beat.
Sadly for us,
It never will.