Listen. . . . What You Do Not Hear is Called a "Rut."

So much is said between us,
Though without any spoken word.
Indeed, it has to be the largest vocabulary
In which I have never heard!
The hours just clatter on by us, and
Without a thought, I say nothing at all; but
You cover your ears, afraid that what you don't hear,
At that decibel, will force you to crawl.
Quietly directing to my furor, to my din,
You give a hush of tumultuous commotion,
That in and of itself is quite rattling,
When not the ears, but the heart, hears the notion.
And I suppose we have both heard the calling,
A desire to lend an ear elsewhere and whereupon
We may likely both soon be audience to
Anyone willing to hear, or who even pretends to care.
And what a quiet, landmark day I have met with!
What an obnoxious blast of bedlam, indeed,
When two people can sit together and hear nothing,
While piercing the silence with rages of need.