The walls are now on the attack.
They come with a harsh unnatural voice,
a rasping volcano hurling
boulders at us without aim.
Only chance says where
they land, making nowhere safe.
I am momentarily struck deaf.
I do not hear the awful final roar
of the tower in death.
My mind blocks out the last sounds
of the powerful collapse,
the ripping, renting, relentless break up
raining down. But with all the growling
and gnashing of its dentilations,
I do not recall the cruel noise.
I am deaf… as deaf as I was
to those voices crying vainly for help.
Perhaps my hearing is deadened
by the sight of so dark a vision
too great a suffering to absorb,
too stimulating to accept,
too overwhelming to possess.
The wind does not blow the cacophony away
as it did the voices from atop.
The sound is present.
I simply am unable to hear it.
But I cannot refuse to see it.