The silence lies. It lies in wait to berate the passing of time in slanted rhyme that flies and dies while silence lies in words and waits and then creates an illusion that naught has passed. Abashed, the silence lies with muted cries of boredom and despairing sighs who all imply that once you lie the truth stands up and promptly tries to die admist the cries and lies and why's rhetorically. Historically all the why's do agonize and though we try to dry the tearsoaked silence of the by and by's only my poor muffled cries, all lies, do terrorize the souls of every shape and size of fat, short, stupid, young, old and wise are all my lies and yet they speak in moans and sighs inaudible amidst the cries of all the other ants and flies who also lie in wait, sedate, without a thought or feeling. Reeling I respond with cries in silence that attempt to vie and win but in the end the sigh dies staring with cold, blue, dead eyes of guilty conscience. Hence I oft do recognize my lies and half-aborted tries when I realize I purposefully fail. Pale my face and soft my cries while time runs out the door and slips and trips and dies for silence lies to slay those who won't heed its cries for help. The silence lies in wait and word and I hear, ashamed, absurd, the folly of my evil ways but the silence wounds and slays whatever I could think to claim in this blasted eternal game and I lie and try and vie and sigh and cry and finally die in silence.
No comments:
Post a Comment