does the apathy translate?

the wanton wanderlust trusted
to lead,
to shepherd a dying empty me
out of the desert in my blood,
is more yours than mine I find
when the violence of mind
is finally transmuted into the
kind of silence that usually
follows the snapping of
violin strings.

you were always symphony halls
hanging framed in monochrome,
because someone wanted you replaced.

I feel like we all are, though.

is that even apathy?