roars in my brain.
Tuned out---to me;
your empty music; TV blaring,
not to hear, but to insulate.
"Hush! I-wanna-hear-this-song! Are-you-done-talking-now?!"
Your mindless listening-not to a TV show.
has walled me into
a chasm of silence that screams in my soul.
the distant moon
This poem came to life almost of its own volition, pre-written, and all I had to do was grab a pencil and scribble it down.
The impetus was just such a scene as described, with my then-teenage daughters, and I was so distraught at not being able to 'get through' to them. I had no recourse but to walk away, lest I do or say something I'd later regret, and so I walked out into the yard, and beheld the full moon. It was when I came back inside that the poem happened.
© 11-16-88 C. E. Carl
© rev. 12-13-12 C.E. (Carl) Elias Photo: publicdomainclip-art: blogspot(dot)com
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