So accustomed to noise are we,
Our minds provide it
In our rare moments of silence.
When we cannot feel the world anymore,
We attempt to become the world,
A process fraught with anxiety,
And rife with chaos.
It is the silence we fear:
Discovering only then
What we truly believe the world to be,
Past our lies and our slogans:
Emptiness and echoes,
Regrets and recriminations,
And a desire, at all costs,
To keep the noise going
To share is human:
