Ringing in Original Writings

There’s a ringing in my ear
It has been there for years
From age, disuse, something, it is not known
I try to drown it in sound
To muffle it with movement
To ignore it during quiet
On certain days like today
It can’t be achieved
The silence is deafening
The permanent decay seeps into my mind
Like drips of water on a forehead
Slow steps down a long hallway
While I, at the other end, must listen
In a locked room, incorrectly anticipating an end that won’t arrive soon
An impenetrable nail on a never ending chalkboard
A reminder of futility
Acceptance of the existing conditions
Doing the best with what we have been given
This begs the penultimate question:
Have I?

Last updated November 12, 2018