In my throat
And between front and back
A shuttering as if a leashed animal
tugs at my center
Feel me! they each say
At once without turn nor patience
A never ending race in certain places
Of the lost and confused, forgotten, and undone
I am so sorry
That I cannot hear nor help every one.
The larger the world becomes
The louder the hum
The greater the cries
Everyone dies
Forgive my selective Hearing
it is not that what you have to say is not worth hearing. it is a need for silence and the stillness that digests, and rests to sift and sort
Priorities and responsibilities out.
Thin Tin String 