The Listener

I'm sick!
Lending to long, long streams of words from meaningless bottles of earth
Fighting the wrong songs being heard from shaking what's said since my birth
Compromised self worth

That's it!
Flowers die at your feet, mothers cry when they meet,
Your ever-pushing, ever-pulling, ever-trolling voice
Under a thin white sheet

And so!
The work still lies in the ear,
Importing catastrophic, alotopic, philosophic, economic, electronic, alcoholic, pathologic, too psychotic
Minds turned neurologic.

I struggle to be real!
There's rubble when we yield to shields of steel we wield in fields, can't feel, can't heal, can't seal the deal
With forces of the real we cannot Reveal

While bells toll in the east,
Is this famine or feast?

Oh, you're everywhere!
There's cundrel in the harrel
and barkers in the bor
I've bondered and I've barreled,
And you? You're the listener.

Listen!