Hey, Is This Thing On?

Words    
Powerful weapons  
solace to some    
wasted on the few.    
   
Don't you just hate it    
when you talk and no    
one seems to listen?    
That's what happens    
to the protagonist    
of this story.    
and the consequences    
of such a action.    
   
Its 5.30pm tea time    
she's had a bad day    
but the husband    
Isn't interested    
and certainly not listening    
he's staring into space    
while playing with his    
food its sausage and mash tonight.    
he's wondering about    
the girl he banged    
last weekend    
is she pregnant?    
and whens the next    
beer coming from    
such a lovely chap.    
Meanwhile a endless    
volley of words    
ricochet of his    
thick skin and day old stubble    
his ears are like the    
gates on a 24 TESCO  
on a Sunday night..  
..closed!   
   
She grabs a nearby microphone    
that is plugged in to the kids    
Karaoke machine in a act of desperation    
and pure sarcasm on her part.    
"Hey, Is This Thing On?    
are you even Listening?    
she screams.    
Not that he would care!    
he's asleep.    
   
But these words must    
go somewhere,    
right?    
they just don't fade    
in to nothing?    
   
Her words travel    
through microscopic    
fiber optic wormholes    
leading to a secret    
universe contained    
in a single floating molecule,    
a universe of microscopic    
proportions.    
   
In this universe there    
hangs a planet    
its inhabitants    
gather around the ye old tree    
and the haunted stones.    
Unable to speak    
the tribe can only    
listen,    
anything to serve    
there invisible goddess      
it will be soon.    
   
The tree starts to vibrate    
the haunted stones levitate    
are protagonists voice    
is heard booming through    
the sky.    
   
The two tribes of this planet    
go to war each wanting to serve    
there unseen mistress bidding.    
war breaks out .    
who will serve the "voice"    
as the dust settles    
through the valleys    
of broken bones    
and spilled blood    
the two tribes in    
there limited understanding    
have successfully committed genocide    
the planet in this micro verse    
remains uninhabited    
and yet the tree    
still speaks.    
   
The moral of the story?    
Next time someone talks    
have the curtsy to listen    
you never know who might    
be listening.