You Don't Understand

I know that we speak the same language.
You know that I've said it ten thousand times,
But somehow we're just not communicating
In enumerating a tired old theme.
Taking apart every syllable,
Every nuance laid threadbare before us, picked clean.
And still you don't hear, or do you ignore?
Would it help if I shouted and screamed?

The rules of polite conversation sometimes
Tie the pitiful hands of the articulate
When the ears of the listener deafen and turn
In directions too often not meant to be tread,
Leaving the speaker, the teller of stories, to
Squirm in frustration much to the point
Of wishing the listener, to his dismay,
Were strangled, beaten and left for dead.

Such a simple, magical plan...
Pity you don't understand.

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