The Conscientious Observer
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I write and record what I observe from life's suffering.
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The Loud Boy in A Quiet World
Voices circled his head,
But the world lived in silence.
Chin up, loudly he read,
But couldn't understand the signs.
All the things he was fed,
All that he was to put on line,
Faded away in his bed,
As the day bore the night.
The world could see his tears,
But it opted to move on.
No one was there for his fears,
That have been haunting him for so long.
So he started to scream,
Let the world know he's alone.
His voices had pierced ears,
But he was told to watch the tone.
He hated the eyes of others,
Thought he was made fun of.
Everything seemed a bother,
Not much that he's fond of.
He was living with lovers,
But they were too quiet to love.
But how'd that be if he hated himself?
What love is enough,
To make him love someone else?
So he ignored the quiet world,
He painted his hurt.
He painted something that was blurred,
It looked so absurd.
Then he saw the others lurk,
They spoke with words,
He couldn't understand what he heard,
He was confused with every sound.
Maybe he wasn't a loud boy in a quiet world,
Maybe it's the other way around.
