Whispered Shout

Is that a cry I hear?
Barely a whisper, nestled in the breeze,
A solitary note, a whimper of a shout,
Far too timid,
Or is it cowed?
Crowded out in a mass of unblinking chatter
Black doves and white ravens
Highbrow lummox and bourgeois pariah
Lustful clerics and frigid harlots
Each in vapid cognizance of listless living
Some craving solace
Many seeking serenity
And finding none in a world without patience for the lethargic
Without forgiveness for the miscreant
Tired of repeat showings
Of countless rebirth
In false Messiah
In suicidal dullards
Seeking the pinprick of a black hole
An eyelet to swallow it whole
To a cherished blankness
Is that her cry,
I hear?

Mother earth?