Deadened Hearts

I see your face and it looks to me that you’ve long abandoned the quest for truths, those inner worlds beyond mere signs and features on the surface. Perhaps in childhood you once had that sudden flash of consciousness where beyond the veil secret voices whispered, “come.” With desperate curiosity you sought your elders out for wisdom, pronouncing words unmentionable, imponderable. “No place for children!” so they deemed and turned your gaze away from demons – primal echos – and tuned you to a frequency cast across the urbanscape. Slowly programmed by the tune of sex, songs, and sparkly things you forgot that longing voice within that reached and reached into the darkness. You come and go, from here to there, with muffs that pound away the fears, and thin black bricks that hold your gaze on things made to make you think they matter. You’ve been reprogrammed by this system to ignore the whispers, yet they hum behind the noise. Every now and then, when you’re still and silent, you hear that distant murmur, so familiar, a cherished friend. A sudden fear and trembling overwhelms your deadened heart – you chase sedating comforts.

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