i scribble on a piece of paper
a keyboard smash, a random string of letters
what once birthed a poem
now blank, stares back, soulless
was it ever my voice? or was i a mere echo
of an origin that is now silent ~
i beg for it to speak again
as i slowly realise its deafening roar
has been present
all along.
the impudent ear fails to listen
only ever tempted by the sounds more entertaining:
those of the outside, the music, the dance, the chatter
silent is the loud heart wailing.