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Is it that I have not the words to say?
Or I am dumb? My tacit way
makes me seem, a docile man
To those who are more boisterous!!
Leave me be; I must be alone to think.
And in thinking, words must shrink,
as sounds that silence comes,
as gentle winds or lovers arms,
or rays of Suns...
that here in the silence of myself,
'tis all that God might give to me,
that idle out like leaking leaves,
to see... in verse... with complex stealth
if my solitary shadow grieves.
I am indifferent.
Do you not know my agony,
My struggle, my war with war,
My angry roar?
Words squeezed through
ailing capillaries,
and tissues scarred by guilt
Tumbling onto the page; all split,
in lines like caterpillars,
Crawling up the readers arm.
Yet I am calm...
for silence makes me thus,
For in this isolation...
there is no fuss.
You can be the mountain
you attempt to scale but fail,
Becoming a giant dwarf...
A falling boulder breaks,
but a snowflake grows much bigger,
until it reaches the top of the bottom,
where the other dwarfs snigger.
Welcome home brother...
But you are never home,
Nor there nor here...
And misunderstood,
'tis always near...
the pain... the shame,
The fear
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