Killing the art of Poetry - I

Music is what I hear,
When it should have been silence,
Even when no one is near,
Time immemorial whence

Why, thought I, should I have to think,
Things that should have been out in a blink.

And I remember what brought upon this,
Which reminds me of all the things I miss,
Things go on, they always do.

Everyone meets other people, me and you too,
And so thinking, I get down to rest,
Knowing I’ll never get used to this mess.