Enjoy The Mystery
There's a darkness that fills the void.
Absent color its will destroys,
beyond the old boarded-up doors
and shuttered floors
lies a sickness
which even the most immune avoids.
The usual entry point to this world
of colorless, odious, noise
is the power button on any one
of your devices, turn it on,
let it seep in then explode with pride.
You live in a country which depicts violence
as a solution to every problem
Another minute not thinking for the majority is an ode to joy,
no answer to why, it's just me watching the night sky die
as the sun murders the quiet and that same rattle of the rat race
which is so very volatile comes clamoring through
I play my very last hand and add a drum-beat
to the bass-line, now we're hearing
a cacophony of wild sounds: the screech of tires, the rustle of dry brush,
the sound of feet stomping through mud, the cutters cutting stone,
and last but not least the leaf blower, lawnmower and my phone.
It rings about as often as I'm home, but does it really
make a sound when I'm gone, or does its circuitry
understand the idea of echoing a pointless tone,
does it even understand that it's just a phone.
Maybe it believes the voice which muddles through
its speaker is its own.