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Poem

But they look at me with pride
To have carried the silence
To have carried you this far
They hear the humming of the car
As your hand caresses my burning window
Your mood ring turns brown
Driving me faster towards the graveyard
Where the dead will listen
Where the lies will glisten
Listen. . .LISTEN
Don’t ignore the little voices!
JUST LISTEN!
They want everything they are not
Even as they rot, the voices rise
As your cares die
As the baffled pride rides through the night
I carry more and more wretches
Away from the lies. . .away from the cries
Their existence forgotten and aching
What a tough decision I am stuck to making!
Preparing the dough in this cursed hearse
My backdoor opening, BURNING
Letting the souls slide inside me
Get in everyone. . .
One by one
As they grin. . .they know only what appears
WHY ME!?
CAN’T YOU HEAR!?
Can’t you LISTEN. . .LISTEN!
Close your eyes
The hearse is nothing—hear the cries!
And they are NOT mine
NEVER MINE
Swallowing lies. . .saying goodbyes
I parallel park for the night
On the silent, red curb
The sanctuary of the ignored
They touch me but dare not look inside
Groups of laughing noise surrounding us
As I try to uncover them—to strengthen their wilted throats
But they are deaf and blinded
And all is for naught

There is a small soul within every crowd
A soft voice against the senile bickering of the strong
And the small souls wish they would listen

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