The Eardrums of the World

Sometimes I think about screaming at the world.
I play with the idea, and let it swirl in my head.
I wake up and contemplate it, at night, in bed.
In the end I refrain, and am silent instead.

It would be senseless to scream at the world.
The result would be that my voice would be gone.
The world would laugh cause it's done nothing wrong.
The world would be still, ignore me, and move on.

I have no reason to scream at the world.
When I think about it, at the end of the day.
When all is done, I'm embarrassed and okay.
I'm actually being blessed and molded like clay.

Imagine a poll of who has screamed at the world.
Maybe those who loved someone who is now deceased.
Maybe those with foreheads legitimately creased.
Possibly someone who cannot withstand the beast,
Who is constantly chained under a lock and a key,
Someone who can't even imagine being free.
Maybe dreams about heaven are their only source of glee.
Someone who isn't spoiled like me.

I wonder if I'll ever scream at the world.
Either through immaturity, or just the horror of life.
Maybe I'll encounter a true source of strife.
For now I won't think about screaming.
But I'll help those that do, while I live my life.