Hush

Wasted effort
from your fingertip
you can not remedy
a silence brought by coal to lip
the crusted scab
a dark cocoon
you can not pierce the numbness
of this self inflicted tomb
do not ply me with your song
do not tempt me with your story
do not disturb the pins
I have waited for so long
do not stimulate my senses
I am passed
your feeble cure
I am anchored to the darkness
by a silence strong and pure
let my senses drown
in the blackened waves of ink
let them die somewhere below
let them rot there till they stink
they will rise again
bleached white
in sharpened contrast
perhaps then
I'll tolerate
their innervating light.

©2005