Manipulating Waves Poem by Noah Smits

Hear ye the echoes off the height of the balcony,
The frigid vibrations down the spiralling stairs.
Hear the melancholy glide through the mahogany;
Dark shapes, open spaces, entwined in affairs.

I scuttle down passages, clearly and plainly,
A boisterous burden despite my restraint.
Poking and prodding for room to contain me,
My dealer a devil, my search for a saint.

I am sound steeped in folly,
I hiss at the mist.
Seclusions of mildness
I seek out to quell.
Through courtyards I volley
Where deafness is bliss,
Yearning for silence
Apart from myself.

The monks in their cloisters who think they have hid
Lie wide-eyed in bed as the walls softly scream.
I care not for law; I care not for history,
I merely recall what their forefathers did.

Sober, I pass through the mouth of the drunkard
Aloof as offense ignites taverns ablaze.
I care not for wives, I fear not their husbands
Delivering verses of curses and praise.

I am buzz on the boardwalk,
My censorship gags
All suffering and poor talk
From those who can brag.
In courtyards I worry
Deserting my poise
My soul tries to scurry
Away from the noise

Harshness! O, Harshness! Each syllable bleeds it,
Unrightfully spitefully people provoke
Beast of ill nascency, everyone feeds it
And keeps it on leashes so eager to stoke

These busier times have now pressured my patience
And emphasis bends me o'er fences and rails.
Will I ever retire? Or am I just ageless?
A force on a yoke for whom even Death fails?

I am sound bathed in ignorance,
Sautéed in scorn.
I serenade the spiritless,
Titter at the torn.
In courtyards I stress over
Pain I cannot engage,
But I am just the messenger
Manipulating waves.