Listen . . . . What You Do Not Hear is Called a “Rut.”
So much is said between us,
Though without any spoken word.
Indeed, it has to be the largest vocabulary
In which I have never heard!
The hours just clatter on by us, and
Without a thought, I say nothing at all; but
You cover your ears, afraid that what you don’t hear,
At that decibel, would force you to crawl.
Quietly directing to my furor, to my din,
You give hush of tumultuous commotion,
That in and of itself is quite rattling,
When not the ears, but the heart, hears the notion.
And I suppose we have both heard the calling,
A desire to lend an ear elsewhere and whereupon
We may likely both soon be audience to
Anyone willing to hear, or who even pretends to care.
And what a quiet, landmark day I have met with!
What an obnoxious blast of bedlam, indeed,
When two people can sit together and hear nothing,
While piercing the silence with rages of need.
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