I am not moved;
stolid and bleak
the countenance remains
(the only way to deal
with the suffering and pain),
though pained I am not

(there is no apparent pain).

I barely know of the affliction
though it troubles me still,
the agony around me
takes me and
teaches me to face
a grim reality:

the reality of this illusion.

(and oh god it’s so real!)

Stolid and bleak,
the outlook remains
(still the only way to approach
this suffering and pain).

Yet, within many,
a light rises up
and fills the hearts.

(Such is the power of impending doom.)

With an insecure peace,
a calm,
a brief smattering of life again.

(such is the power of a laugh).

And a laugh rising up and taking them,
while unmoved, indignified I am.
To sit and to stare
and wonder
at all of this,
so mechanical,
so stolid and bleak.

Ha! can the power of a laugh
really move me?

Ha! It seems no-one gives a damn?