Resting in the absence of sounds

When I write, I stand on the shoulders of tall giants

They tower miles and miles into the universe

I feel insignificant as a speck of dust floating in the void of space

In the absolute vacuum, no one can hear my pain

If a cry or a plea isn't heard, is it a plea after all

Like a tree that falls in the forest, who knows if it made a sound

Or if it was loud, or even if it set forth a wail

Of searing pain

My words are unheard, even by my own sound reasoning

In the spiral of the want of a premature end

I have often wished for it to arrive sooner, and pleaded aloud too

I in my adept silliness have been so ignorant

That I like the giants have been largely ignored, by sheer will, skill, or both

If then should you chance upon my verses, I hope they provide

Happiness, or the ability to empathise, or even make one feel marginally luckier

This life that I have lived so long, and the bridges I have crossed and burnt

Shall serve as a guide, or even a warning to those that wander about