Wasted Words and the Threat of Thunder


United States
34° 16' 15.7368" N, 118° 36' 53.316" W

I do not speak for a number of reasons
In a number of places that all sound the same
I wrap up my ears no matter the season
And hope that the noises die as quickly as they came
Electric sparks crackle their way to my ears
As well as the voices that chant to a pound
A blasting cry that only heightens their fears
And that hurt the many immune to the sound
I do not want to lose my keen hearing
But I cannot shut out the world in my pain
Though the noises and shouts are still very searing
I must be too young to know of the world’s true name
For what we are, down to the core
A human leaf floating on an ocean’s wave
I’ll listen when intuition knocks softly on my door
To tell me that the world can surely be saved
I’ve waited years to hear music from those
That I know such beauty seizes
The pounding and sounding of he who goes
To the light-shows does nothing but freezes
The minds, the wills, the souls of wonder
So tarnished by the fill of wasted words
So melted by the heat of the threat of thunder
For once they sang like the morning birds
But now their voices feign significance,
The difference is the tone
They feign to know what words they speak
To seek a higher foe
They feign to know what world they dwell
A spell of weak intentions
They feign to know any sense of faith
A sign of few interventions


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