it is the quiet, and how it smothers
internal voices, there are no others
its probing tendrils, explore the spaces
between the screaming, ‘fore it debases
in a reminder, through its oppression
he’d be alone if, not for obsession
so in the silence, when hearing echoes
of voices screaming, their final death throes
he curses quiet, and how it smothers
his only comfort, his restless brothers
to stay unlonely, he’ll lead the flurry
of other voices, in righteous fury
and bring an end to, quiet’s aggression
using their chorus, of vocal repression
art: by Antoine Stevens
