Tristan Robert Lange

The Man I Cannot Hear

The man sits there.

I long for him like he

was

mine.

He is so very distant—

The man, sitting there—

And he cannot hear

me

cry.

It’s not my tone—

He is so very distant,

The man, sitting over there

Outside

of

my

range.

He will not hear my cry;

It’s not my tone—

The man over there, sitting,

He is so damn distant—

Like a church

bell

outside

town.

Looking again, I recognize him

And he cannot hear me cry.

It’s not because of my tone—

That man over there

Is so close yet damn distant—

Like a newly born saint

is from

heaven.

Looking through a sea of sadness,

I recognize myself in him—

I cannot hear me cry

And I don’t recognize my tone—

So damn distant,

Like Earth is from the sun,

I am the man over

there.

Sitting lost in mercurial melancholy,

Afloat in a sea of sadness,

I cannot hear myself cry—

I no longer possess a tone

And I’m so dangerously distant

Like Satan is from salvation.

I am the man sitting there,

Longing for me to be mine.

© 2025 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.