Are the birds singing?

because I can't hear them.
I hear the wind.
I hear the hope in my
head of a hand giving
a gentle grasp of my
thigh letting me know that
this thing isn't over.

I hear the answer
before it is spoken.
before the question
is asked.

Not a question even, but
an inability to accept
truths which have been
ignored in dire attempts
at stability for so long
that they are now too
real to swallow.

I can't hear the birds sing.
Because i don't want to hear them.
I'm jealous of their meaningless song.