Despite the ebb and flow
Of people as they come and go,
Voices rising and digressing
Eventually altogether lessening
And turning to silence
Only to return with vehemence--
I remain still
And still remain.
They are mobile in their clumps,
Always crying out, always counting
The ways in which they are the worst.
Inside they feel not remorse,
But that is not the intention.
Yet the inglorious ascension
Of their voices to the vaulted ceiling
Has such an effect on their audibility.
I hear every word.
I drink it in
Like a poison,
It's addictive; it's ******.
I cannot focus nor be steadfast
As long as this prattle is to last.
Their words are never directed toward me
But they never push me away--
It is my unspoken job to meet them halfway.
I am not a link
But a hammer, disguised as a bolt
Or should it be the other way around?
The incessant ingemination of sounds
Is too heavy a burden for ears such as mine.
I could not keep a level stance
And so I fell into a state of haphazard dissonance.