The Madness of Crowds

The talk, the talk goes on forever;

unfocused, the tumult of noises sounds like the symptom of a fever.

I pick out one voice after another, disappointed as each seems to me to be a foreign language I cannot speak.

It’s the silent ones I can understand, shrouded in loneliness or pensive thoughts or maybe just nothing at all.

Are they, like me, bewildered as to how the past can blend from Spring into Winter so swiftly?

As the noise, the noise goes on forever…