I’ve turned the stereo low.
Sound escapes with a fiercer fight than before.
Decibels greet the silence with a curse
While I ignore the vibrations of violence
That tamper with my gloom.

The sun has risen so high it’s disappeared
And left the sky impossible.
I leave my lamps set at a low glow –
Let God decide how bright’ to light this sphere.

All light refracts more sharply than before
While sound retracts its fragmented deplore'.
God lets me sit, breathe so calmly
That my senses blur until I wake to sleep
Within the pulsing chore.

What? Let me instead decide the pitch
Of sound, of light, of lives?

I’d still want more.

--

author's note: The apostrophe at the end of bright indicates that it's technically brightly. The apostrophe at the end of deplore indicates that it should be deplorement or deploration.