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Archive for the tag “noise”

Orphans

orphanage

I followed my feelings,

and got lost. 

I learned late.  

That shit only works in movies. 

In truth,

there are no heroes,

or prisoners.

No princesses,

or monsters.

Except those you imagine. 

But there is one part of the story that’s true.

We are all orphans,

left to raise ourselves

in the shadows we create. 

I want to be alone in the sun.

To be warm,

where nothing blocks the light.

Understood by all,

because all is only me. 

And if then lost,

the only absence I will know

is of the noise I left behind.

 

© Copyright 2017 William S. Friday

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Noise

noise04

Noise.

I want it to stop for a while.  A fucking long while.  I don’t want to be deaf, I just want to be afforded the luxury of turning it off.  I want to be able to cultivate the habit of silence, and be allowed to choose the time and the place for the intrusion of sound.

And to kick the addiction of distraction.

There has to be a way to quiet the voices and quell the interference that has burrowed into that place between my ears and my soul, where the notice of deep calling out to deep must dwell, and where the allowance of unhindered contemplation… where the allowance of… where…

FUCK!  Make it STOP!

This is my day.  Everyday.  Multiple times a day, like the feigned multiple orgasms of a well-compensated prostitute.  Hollow, meaningless, empty sounds that, if umbilicaled to a meaningful source, might bring joy or great pleasure.  Or possibly just 10 seconds of a throw-away happy.  But these escapes are filled with the unwelcome familiarity… the rumble… the droning hum… of 10 million pissed-off bees.  Songs, voices, and words.  The goddamnedest, most annoying spew of words.  Words that will not, cannot, and always refuse to, stop.

Until that moment when life navigates you into the omniscient, perfectly well-rounded ass-end of time and space, when a singularly unplanned bookmark splits the page of revelation in the place where the sun ain’t never shone before.  And you realize, for the first and only time in your querulous excuse for a life lived beneath the expectations of everyone, especially yourself, that the silence…

might be…

worse.

 

© 2013  Bill Friday

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