Mute


The mute ones breathe between the words. . .
the sound of which they never hear.
They see when lips are being still
before and after words appear.

They hear a thought within a sigh. . .
a subtle rustling of the heart. . .
a caving in of armoured chest. . .
as rusted chains are ripped apart

The mute ones rule my kingdom now
I cannot utter empty words
Sounds, the ones that I can hear
do not seem in and of this world.

If I could carve upon my face
enough of substance to be known
as one who has forsaken voice
to hear the song within a stone


I would make the rivers run
from out these eyes that never cry . . .
and all the mute ones on the shore
would watch my life go passing by


Out to sea
and out to sea . . .
and a Great Silence
holding me.