The printer wails, complaining
And it starts to retch
Losing so little
As it spits out so much.
The disgruntled floor,
Unhappy how it is ignored,
Tired so of the tapping,
Done and over with the noise,
The sounds all vexatious.
The irritated floor, is so full
Of weariness and exhaust.
Not just any taps are they.
No these beats that cross the floor,
Are far too loud
To be so simply ignored.
These taps – they talk.
Yes, they talk to the glass door.
They talk to the indecisive
Glass door.
The door that cannot make up its mind.
The door, indecisive, unsure,
Does not know what to do.
So it’ll open, and close, and open, and close, and open -
The door compressed against the wall, like a lock
But there it is.
Open.
There’s more to that door:
Voices lay behind.
And those voices-
They fill the place with sound;
A vibrant cacophony,
Such madness,
Seeps past the now open glass door.
The waterfall of voices cascades in.
The silence of the room-
Interrupted.
The droplets of sound spill forth
And the sound inside thus spread!—
Silence no more.
Footsteps they scar the floor.
Their impression disturbs the cold tiles.
They add to the clamorous silence,
They add to the uncertain breathing.
Those footsteps, that silence,
Conduct the chorus, continues the canon of breaths.
Each intake heard, in the silence.
All the elements of the ear-splitting silence,
Though quiet
All becomes so very loud.
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What ya think? ;3 Vote/Comment/Fan - whatever!! :D <333
FB in the external link ;P
