there are voices heard within that rasp and coo out terror

It's the sense that counts us human 

more than any other. Though not 

to touch can be our choosing, 

veiling eyes, holding nose, 

stiffened lips together tight 

as the clam's in matters of taste, 

try as we might ears can't be closed. 

 

Who speaks our way, whether 

to declaim I hate you, love 

or merely Good day to you 

we've no choice but to let 

into the mind, cede an instant 

of our lives to seek to understand, 

become a part of all we'll know. 

 

Even could we declare ourselves gods 

as did those crewcut Mach 1 boys 

who first outflew all sound, most fear, 

body's rumbling percussion even, 

still there are voices heard within 

that rasp and coo out terror, love, 

fathers, mothers speaking their minds. 

 

[David Citino {1947-2005} 'Sister Mary Appassionata on the Nature of Sound', from The Appassionata Doctrines]