Nothing But the Noise
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Endless trains in the distance—
rushing past, too fast,
going where?
Nowhere.

Packed full of vapid nothings,
pointless wastes,
disrupting everything around them.

They drown out the natural sounds—
the breath of beasts,
the rustle of wilds,
even the soft hum of signals
that once bound us all.

Now just noise.
Pointless disruption.

Chatter without weight.
People speaking of people—
none of whom matter.

Some speak of movements,
but almost no one speaks of ideas.
Thought wasted
on the gears and teeth
of machines that don't live,
on lives that barely count.

The dregs.

Rain patters in the distance,
the drains gurgle with the overflow of noise.
No signal here.
No life in this water—
just runoff,
bleeding into the ground.

Even the plants that drink from it
grow twisted.

Weeds.
Corrupted.
Selfish.
Murderous.

No beautiful grave flowers bloom here—
just mundane green things,
climbing, clawing,
tearing toward what they want
with no thought for where they are
or what they are.