upon the first experience of silence
it crept;
stifled synapse struggle
bound at the wrists
crying out for the absence of
beautiful words, their
muffled urgency
disregarded (poor circulation).
with struggle and attempt,
denial birthed a dry spell.
spoken word forgeries spew forth
from swollen lips
contrived and childish-
how foolish you thought them
beauty...
turning each simile over on your
tongue, too simple a texture to
caress between teeth.
until the crumbling came, no
syllable had life.
at once rush forth in a mess of
release mistaken for tragedy
letters surge on fingertips
scrambling for a home between tattered
pages, and
breath happened.
several months and seconds passing
casual synap conversation, we are
certain that silence bred
destructive omens in the forms of
muffled voices, and the ability for life in
words becomes our truth.