Shriek of the Disenchanted

A cry in the wilderness...

“Hello…Is anybody there?”

I peck on glass panes as passers-by

Scurry to escape my reach.

“They don’t hear me!”  I preach.

“Nor do they seem to care.

Nor can I fathom why.”

 

“Am I so filled with human swill

That crowds, with cruel eyes fixed, turn away?

Do I not bleed as men bleed?

Do tears not stain my cheek?

Must I, cursed at birth, still

Suffer so, night and day?

 

Dolt-head celebrities, rejoice!

Perhaps, if I were thee, the masses

Might embrace me heartily!

Unconditionally!

And covet, by their choice,

My fame till it passes.

 

Alas, self-pity rights no wrong.

My shriek pales before the global whine.

Tsunamis, earthquakes, and war,

By rights, deserve much more

Attention from the throng

Than simple sighs of mine.