('90 / America)


A thousand questions all resound
As hands tick aching slow.
Unspoken pleadings fill the air:
What would you have me know?

Shrouds of silk and spider-thread
Cloak the blazing word.
Here am I, list'ning close
But little though is heard.

A fragrant song perhaps exists
For me, it is too far.
With foil up and mask pulled low
With Silence on I spar!

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Comments (1)

you need to write the revision of this...the second part...the resolution...or is that revolution? ? Didja sleep at all last night? ? I sure did.