Silence V

Gahhh.
The silence
is choking him;
a thousand words
buzzing like a million wasps
in his skull, he cannot
extricate these words
in a way
that sounds write.

Three hundred -
more perhaps - verses;
the number writ
since Bones was sundered
from heart and reason.

How old
are the old,
and how young
are the young?

How bright is the night?
How cold the sun?

How do you love love
which will not
be loved?

Conversely,
in not loving love, how
does he exist while denying
the fabric of his bone?

These
are just a sample
of the mad silence; the hornets
careening around the cranium,
worsened only
by the not being able
to purge them to paper.

All disjointed, lacking
in any cohesion -
All fitting together
with perfect,
discordant, harmony.

_(06-03-2010)