All Those Voices

All those voices calling out become just so many shapes and forms disturbing the silence. We do not know how to respond and what to say. Words become useless, less than the silence they replace. The shouting voices are like shapes, forms in the morning mists, shadows in the fogs of uncertainty and doubt that becloud our every thought and make action seem slow and heavy, ponderous. Everything we do seems wrong and every word that could be said seems empty of meaning, just another voice adding to those too many voices already clamouring to be heard.

We want to escape, find some place of silence where the thoughts can flow again, instead of being dammed up, drowned out and robbed of meaning, of context, of coherence, by these other voices that shout without meaning or cause. Everywhere seems full of these full voices screaming for attention and saying nothing that anyone wants to hear.

Sometimes, though, rushing to escape this constant screaming, we stop suddenly in the street, struck dumb by the realisation that we too were out there too, just like all the others, shouting meaninglessly into the indifferent air.