There comes a time where words they find their end,
And any utterance would be a pointless flail.
For consonants and vowels in their trend
Are only audible in Major scales.
When Minor chords are strung across this room
And pain predicts and dictates every move,
How foolish would it be if we presume,
That words can travel miles across this plain,
Which separates our safe and comfort zones
From those who are inhabitants of Pain.
And if you visit Hell to greet its slaves,
Or hope to dab the brow of agonised,
Remember to leave empty words in graves.
For in this land your folly is despised.
No currency of acting sympathy
Will buy you, here, a single thankful word
T’is better if you simply didn’t speak
Admitting to the ignorance you slurred.
Pretension is an empty alibi
That only serves as glitter on the wounds
Of those whose anguish you would loud decry.
And yet, see, as you stab them in their tombs
With all the ignorance you think is care
Oh glory! If you now could see yourself
Drowning others in concern and air.
You hurry to the bedside of a soul
A soldier and a patient of the war.
Your wasted entertainment takes its toll
A Nurse is needed, not emotion’s Whore.
In Jester’s suit you chant the lines so well
And thus begins the chatter of the Con,
As you describe his broken heart and bones
As keenly as if his wound were your own.
Your selfishness would serve a better cause
If left locked under key upon your shelf
Deep down you simply hate that silent pause,
When mourning robs the glory from your Self.
What have you come to do then, Charlatan?
If affirmation is all you desire
Then find and train another Parrot-friend
Who doesn’t mind your empty words or lies.
I hope one day you find yourself as well
Captured by the enemies of joy.
Then you will finally have a story worth to tell
Of how much silence earns its weight in gold.