the neurotic kid runs frantically
locked in between the four walls
his parents busy with drilling-hammering
every now and again in intervals
unable to enjoy the blessed moments of
silence; afraid of their own thoughts?
but not a single syllable you can hear
to leave their lips at all
only some inarticulated rolls of laughther,
if you can call it so
is it their imprisoned longing for the
discreet noises of nature?
their way to express what they're missing
in their false comfort
the thunder, the water, the birds and bees
where we all belong
a world with less words
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