I have no tongue to indicate distress,
No pen to set my sadness down in ink;
Whatever I compose becomes a mess,
A blurry image of the thoughts I think,
And no true record of emotion. No,
I cannot speak the terrors in my mind
Without distortion, and, since that is so,
I am contained within a sort of bind.
The very act of speaking, which should clear
The senses and provide desired release
Obfusticates and pains me. I can hear
The lack in what I say, and so I cease
Silent, or almost so, when faced with pain,
Unable to announce it or explain.
No comments:
Post a Comment