Earplugs

 All things speak in absolute silence deep,

You hear voices anxious, thick and steep.

Within the waxy hush, all is smooth and plain,

All is analyzed in strict lines' domain.

So many unknown voices hide and wait,

That ripen secretly behind walls' state.

As they were kneaded, they emerge like saws,

Singing all their deathly sounds and laws.

The wood can hear as if the glass now speaks,

The light cries out for all things to draw near.

And fabrics drink the voice that sound bespeaks,

Which they then attach to colors, sharp and clear.

But in the black silence, as the truest part,

Your self draws near, it limps out of oblivion's art.

It formally presents itself as body's lord,

And for straight dialogue, it urges you toward.