Jabbering

Jabbering

Isolation can sometimes close in,
Like the smooth flowing of thick grey fog
Rising from the warm earth into the cool night air,
Blocking out the noise of speaking,
Becoming soft muttering barely understandable,
Comprehension nullified by simple absorption
The fog of inner preoccupation.

Words come in force,
Jabbering,
Or perhaps something important,
It does not matter,
Noises returned,
Often just appropriate sounds politely made
Giving the illusion of actual connection
When in fact it is a sign of the fog getting thicker
Blocking out all beyond ones sight.
Others becoming silhouettes haunting ones world,
Slight images making no impression
Though the game is played,
Chatter unending,
False laughter made more tragic
The one laughing not knowing how hollow and empty its sounds,
An eternal cocktail party of sorts,
With shallow entertainments hiding the inner void.