Poem: There



Are you there?
Can you hear me?
Are you tuned in?
At your station?
Does it matter
what I say or
is the static far stronger
than my voice.
Am I talking
to myself?
I strain to hear.
I lean in close
but hear nothing
that indicates you heard
a word.
A dying man calling
those that chose
to turn off the switch
or walk away.
I call out.
louder this time.
Are you there?

About this poem

The art and gift of listening is largely lost.

A poem that could be about politics, relationships, business, or spiritual things.

The picture is of an old intercom in a Victorian home. Where the servants were always tuned in. But no one else was.


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