In silence

So many people sing in silence
voices tucked in belts, boots and buckets
Like the woolly head of a mop, their beauty is thrown to the earth
To the filth, spills, piss and guts of the earth
they lie
Taking pride in their use
Here is praise, ascribed to the mop,
made of gold
[silence]

So many people sing in silence
Their days are filled with hums
The vibration from hands trembling
This is born of fear; do not take my daily bread
This is born of fear; do not laugh at my daily bread
This is born of fear; this bread is not big enough
This is born of fear; ‘I am actually afraid’
and fear lives [fervently] with them
[silence]

So many people sing in silence
Melody tucked in trunks, drawers, palms and pen covers
Even thoughts are not privy to their singing
Bound in the deepest of death
These sing have been lost to never
They will never, the cry of a baby, calm
The soul of a miner, lift
The dance of a piano, accompany
Or the tears of a shower, grace

So many people sing in silence
Sad is humanity, that horns, factories and engines are our melody
Agitated, distracted and tormented
Such is the fate we have chosen
Such is the fate they have offered
Estranged, will we always be, from your singing
And in silence, we have come to dwell
In silence, we have come to abound

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