I hear you, little brook as you babble 

in my ears, I hear you too, little girl,

crying in your mother’s arms, I hear

you, lawyers, strident and demanding. 

Some voices are pleasant, and some 

can be soothed with toffee, some carry 

on like there is no tomorrow, 

Some silence themselves to echoes

that are heard no more. Yet others

are soundless, cadences hidden in eyes

that have forgotten to smile, bulldozed

by narrow crumbling walls.

I hear you all, I hear you clear

I hear the whine of the strays 

I do not rescue, I hear the cry 

of the tears that fall, un-erased.

I hear the moon as it rises and the earth

as it groans, I hear dreams as they sour 

the flowers as they bloom and wilt.

There are so many voices besides ours. 


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