Attention
I can’t listen to your life, anymore.
It’s all a fire and noise.
Calm becomes intruder who is
Quickly shunned and exiled.
Drama is not my intention
But it’s what your presences dictates.
It flows like a Shakespearian quill.
The gentle calligraphy
Of your sullen chronology
Tends to blister the heart.
It tends to soil the message.
It’s a far distance
To go from repetition
To comprehension
And you,
My dear,
Lack the patience.
The silence is deafening
