Tinnitus (Poetry)

The blood’s relentless orchestra provides
a continuous soundtrack to the day —
its tempo measured — hushing the still hours
accompanying each silence stretched and waiting
soothing discord with its regular and slow
                                percussive throb.

External noise submissive to this swell —
the sudden crescendo rush — the hissing symphony
that changes pace — goes up a pitch —
some invisible conductor knows the score
by heart — never missing — counts each vital beat.

There are quiet passages — phrases almost pastoral —
a gentle pulse distant as the surf’s
cool sway of voices vague and sibilant —
no more than shushing echoes — watery
hypnotic — timeless — marking out a strained
                                deliberate tranquility.

Then unnumbered variations — drama as the pace picks up —
the crashing overbearing timpani
that swamps all other sound and fills
the skull’s tense and aching auditorium
with no choice now — but to consciously
                                listen...