How does one weigh silence, substantial or trivial
I bear it never-less, pining for more
Not sad, Not happy; just empty of noise
I listen to many a melody; looking to perceive
never fully being able to grieve.

So I act an incautious fool, rash and at impasse
I jest not to joy, instead for self deception
Not impure, Not indifferent; just wish for affix
I lay patient for notification; trying to be connected
Yet feeling completely neglected

Is there an end to the charade, drab and full of flab
I resent it all the more, unable to change
Not growing, Not diminishing; stuck in place
I watch the clock hoping its passage will help gain
the unbearable feeling of pain