Hollow (Poetry)

Their noise is senseless
there is no communication or purpose to
the hammer voices thudding
against walls — splintering
early morning’s breath —
rupturing the day.

A demolition squad of shouts
driving peace away —
the routed silence pounded
as though, already slain
and crushed out loud
it has to be totally destroyed.

I listen for the gaps —
the odd break in the barrage
swelling mute — a sob
caught in the sky’s full throat
where protest has no weight
and sighs dissipate.

Then yob-ish noise rolls back —
all jackboot ignorance and hollow heads
bellowing a cartoon rage —
demand we listen
acknowledge they exist at all
beyond their own imaginings...

Tolerance endures their jarring rattle —
the jangled nerve survives for now
their threat invading —
the crossing of inner boundaries
small casualties of minutes tortured
wiping out hard-won tranquility.