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Grace Randall, Writer

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That is what tires me.

Not sound, clear and filling,

Not music,

The music that makes the world ever so slightly calmer.

It is the noise,

The everlasting clanging that rings in my ears,

Blocking sound, blocking sleep,

Blocking sanity from my brain.

It is an entity of pain,

A creature of loud,

And it is drowning me.


How I wish that the noise

Would hear my broken pleas

And slow its rising,

Stop my drowning,

Cease my pain,

Dull the ringing,

Set me gently on the ground,

And let me breathe the quiet air.

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