Raised Voices

This ancient question,
asked so often,
over so many years,
for no real reason,
just simply to ask,
to question the structure of our world,
to ask over and over again,
what is the world,
and why is the world,
what is our place in it,
and how do we make ourselves matter.
In our ever changing,
ever falling,
ever slipping,
ever growing,
ever fading,
lost little rock,
in the middle of no where,
we all seem to speak over and over,
the same words,
trying to be heard,
raising our voices to meet the rabble,
and failing,
over and over again,
to be heard in any way.
As we raise our voices,
it becomes harder to speak,
harder to hear,
harder to be heard,
the noise closing in so tightly,
that it burns our skin,
as we lose sight of our questions,
of everything,
and just slip away,
hoping to never have to be seen again,
we just blend in,
and slip away,
floating on our little rock,
slipping with it.