Pain can be so loud sometimes.

And while I'm over here screaming,
Does anyone say anything?

No.
Of course they don't.

They only speak up to tell me I'm making too much noise.

"Have you no eyes?" they asked
"Can you not see?"

"Have you no ears? Can you not listen?"

"Have you no hands? Can you not feel?"

"Have you no heart? Can you not love?"

"A heart?" I laugh

"I have no heart to see the people around me
I have no heart to listen to your incessant noise and careless excuses
I have no heart to feel the world and
I have no heart to love my life."

I walked in to my daughter bedroom,
feeling a shudder I never thought twice.
It was an old house OK to me over 30 years
was moving it on. I had lived in homes from
the 70's now they had character.

As in we were sitting in the sitting room
and the steps of a child running briskly
down the stairs would make us mute what
was descending in volume as well as
what could be heard but the problem was...

No one had lived in the adjacent house not a
soul had stepped foot in those unfulfilled spaces.
Yet in the echoes of silent nights there were steps
on descending moments not of ours or there's.

That was in my youth forgotten images faded until
my young were born, now once again the footsteps
have followed. Things fall from ascending heights,
yet on further expectation nothing has fallen but thought.

And I wonder to what end is this becoming, as I'm
writing this and feel something watching in the
darkness as a shiver reverberates through me as I finish...

O'clock O clock
It rings and rings
The faucet drips
A kettle sings

O'clock Clock in
It coughs and beep
The keyboards clack
A cubicle weeps

O'clock Clock out
Cough again beep
The sirens whine
A child sleeps

O'clock O clock
It rings and rings
The faucet drips
A kettle sings

If I am ever lost,
Fear not, for I am either

Lurking in the shadows where the derelict live,
In a suit of fire so the cold and desperate flock toward me.

Or on the twilight streets,
My skirt made of the first twinkling stars swishing about my knees,
Bearing silent witness to the belligerent noise.

I may also be in the meadow outside town
Flaunting the crown of butterflies that the fairies made for me,
As I played with them for as long as the moon hung in the sky.

If I am there and you do not know,
Fear not
For I did not tell you
Because I would like to escape the straightjacket of my home.