Wasted Words and the Threat of Thunder

I do not speak for a number of reasons In a number of places that all sound the same I wrap up my ears no matter the season And hope that the noises die as quickly as they came Electric sparks crackle their way to my ears As well as the voices that chant to a pound A blasting cry that only heightens their fears And that hurt the many immune to the sound I do not want to lose my keen hearing But I cannot shut out the world in my pain Though the noises and shouts are still very searing I must be too young to know of the world’s true name For what we are, down to the core A human leaf floating on an ocean’s wave I’ll listen when intuition knocks softly on my door To tell me that the world can surely be saved I’ve waited years to hear music from those That I know such beauty seizes The pounding and sounding of he who goes To the light-shows does nothing but freezes The minds, the wills, the souls of wonder So tarnished by the fill of wasted words So melted by the heat of the threat of thunder For once they sang like the morning birds But now their voices feign significance, The difference is the tone They feign to know what words they speak To seek a higher foe They feign to know what world they dwell A spell of weak intentions They feign to know any sense of faith A sign of few interventions