Flood

So many messages pass through the air, it’s a wonder the birds have room to fly. They echo deep inside me, responses fluttering to their death in conflict with the noise of a second wave resounding.

I speak and find myself a stranger. I say things not because they are want to be told but because I have heard them before, many times, like the pattering of rain even when I am not really listening.

I cannot stop the billboards and the Metro buses with their ads from blaring forefront in my vision. Yet to close my eyes is more foreboding.. I am soused with chattering that I dare not silence, even in my own home, lest I be left with the engulfing silence that is just me and a vast room full of nothing.

To wake the voices in my heart, I would have to wrestle the silence and then the reality behind the voices themselves. It’s too much to bear. It’s time for E.R..1

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