A Sinking Listeners Tale

A Sinking Listeners Tale

There exist only a few things,
As heavy as a quiet listener’s heart
It carries so many stories
Some filled with bowls of laughter,
And some with jugs of tears
All balanced on a fine line
Fixed atop the listener’s heart. 
Growing taller every minute,
Like the dishes piled in a sink
At the end of a long, busy day.

They’ll clitter and rattle
As you try to move them along,
To add in a spoon here,
And a mug there
All to be done, 
Without breaking any one. 
The listeners heart is much like that
Except there really exists no end
And there is no bottom or top
Just a pile that keeps growing
Much like an untrimmed bush
Unruly, messy and strong.

The burden is heaviest 
for the quietest of the listeners
It keeps building itself, one atop another
There exists no rack beside,
To wash and keep the dishes aside,
So, all she can do
Is put her hand through the mess 
and try to make space
For another plate here 
and another pan there.
Through the dirt and the grease, 
the leftovers and the remains. 

How long will it go?
How many more dishes will fit inside the sink?
How many stories more, before hitting the listeners hearts brink?

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