Muffled cries.  The sounds that people lay waste in the air that shift and grow distant.  Getting smaller and smaller until they are muted by the blaring sounds of cruelty and impurity that fill the night sky.  

Unheard, unwanted, unimportant.

I was loved once.  Of that I am certain.  And many others I am sure.  But as years pass and problems arise the animosity strengthens while affections weaken.  Billions of people run around in a hurry to get no where day after day and have no time to listen.  Listen for that muffled cry.  A teacher saw the smiling facade of a depressed child slip and yet only told her he was sorry when she explained.  He hears but he doesn't listen.  Listen for those silent tears hitting the floor only to be swept away by footsteps.  Listen for those nooses being tied or those resolves being hardened.  Might as well listen to them if you aren't going to stop them; at least give them that.  If they go through life unheard in words, let them be heard in their final actions so that life may find them mangled, bloodied, bruised, and alone only to play their faces on a screen labeled "tragedy".  And how ironic tragedy is.  Because when a girl is bullied and torn down physically and mentally everyday it wasn't tragic until her feet stopped swinging.  When a boy is being hazed for a fraternity he never even wanted to join it wasn't tragic until the last bubble of his life ebbed away.  Only after, is it a tragedy and only when it's too late do people listen.  That's why final letters or suicide notes have the power to suck the breath from family and friends who ignored the signs.  Is this world so lacking in love and so abundant in  hate?  The world love not and hate many, when it should hate not and love many.  Is it really so deprived of caring and friendship that it has filled with indifference and resent?  The attitude of society is how fast can we get there and how many people can we crush doing it because we can and we don't care.  Because we are void of love and understanding.  Because we are content with ignorance and cruelty.  Why must it be this way?  Are there no rays of sun where the clouds part or are the clouds too constricting a miasma to allow it?  Are there no people who see the world for what it is who aren't dying or already dead?  Must blood be shed for eyes and ears to open in some twisted sacrifice?  Though hope is scarce there is light.  No matter how minuscule; I have seen it.  A small child born with no ears who lives in the ICU who finds a way to love something in everyone he meets.  He has never heard ugly words or lies or insults, only sees people for what they are and yet loves like corruption does not exist.  An old woman whose grandchildren became her children because of her child's bad decisions and never once regretted raising 8 children on her own. She can't remember who she is or who they are now but knows they are there and loves them all the same.  These tiny rays of light, though seemingly insignificant, may not be bright enough to see through those clouds.  But they are there.  And since they are there, all hope might not be lost.  Fate may deal a bad hand every now and again, but these hardships only brighten what little light exists.  Fear not.  The clouds may have outnumbered the lights, but they have not put them out.  Fear not.  Corruption may be rampant but those lights still stand untouched as it passes over.  Fear not.  We are drowning, but we havn't drowned yet. Fear not.  Not all is lost.