A Tunning Fork Poem by Robert Stoddard

A cry wails out, its yelp tears the drum.
It flares the brain in a relentless agony.
Yet, its weeping complaint is silent,
absent to any ear but mine.
Only I can hear the pain.
Only I can feel the strike.

Its prongs are bent by careless hearts.
It’s harmonized by fraudulent lies.
The truth, he is known in all this land.
He sings to every ear but mine.
Only I feel the pain.
Only I believe your deception.

The repulsive sound slowly deafens,
until its pitch drifts into the shadows.
At weakened memory it jolts renewed,
to be stricken down by the feminine mallet.
Only I believe its pain.
That why I can hear its sound.