The Man Who Refused to Listen

Harvey is a friend. His ears no longer work.
He made a choice some years ago. He closed his ears to life.
It did no good to beg and plead, his friends could not prevail.
His ears are now vestiges, their doors are bolted tight.

He didn’t start out that way. It built as he moved along.
He heard the noise the world sent forth. The torment caused him pain.
He feigned at first to remove himself from the tumult and the fray.
But bit by bit the din prevailed. It wounded his brain at will.

We tried our best to talk him out of trying such a cure.
He argued that avoiding the wicked curse made good sense.
He often shook his fist at God for making him like Job.
No answer did he ever hear but silence from The Throne.

He thought that silence was balm to sooth the searing pain.
For in some moment unbeknown it formed his guiding plan.
He’s often asked to tell the ‘why’ of that which he has done.
He answers with a vacuous smile, “I’ve had enough, no more.”

It starts out small as most things do. It became a ball and chain.
Is there an hour when ears go dull, and ignore the providence plea?
Or the reading of a recent death, or the cry of a hungry child?
Or deaf to a neighbor, who needs a helping hand?

Our friend had always heard, just what he wanted to hear.
Indifferent to the cares of life he turned a muted ear.
And now his ears have set him free from trauma everywhere.
His love is turned to bitter scorn, his heart to solid stone.

The ways and means are many to flee life’s vicissitudes.
But isolation makes us live in a lonely tomb.
Some choose to close their eyes to pain, to intrusions of this life.
Others live distracted or in a digital device.

It’s easy to distance ourselves from grief as Harvey’s done.
Turn off the tube, quit reading news and cower in our caves.
But what’s the use of doing that and missing all the joy?
For that’s what life is all about. The bad comes with the good.


I asked our friend to open his ears and try the world again.
“The thing I’ve done is what I’ve done, it’s much too late for that”
But now he sees a paradox in the lifestyle that he chose.
The less he hears, the more he yearns for what he’s left behind.

I wrote my friend to offer advice for others who would try the same.
Weeks went by but then it came, his letter with a terse reply.
The stains of tears were hard to miss as I read the simple words:
‘Unstop your ears, the noise you hear, is music by the heavenly choir.’

The road goes on forever and the party never ends. It’s a lovely dance….


Bud Hearn
April 4, 2014