A Lack of Speech

Silence is a secret language, of languish,

Of longing that exists—it perpetuates

The stillness between heartbeats,

Which could be deemed, without reason,

The period between fallen teardrops—

Dewdrops on eyelashes, gumdrops

To childlike innocence. But our pedantry

Is of the pedigree of our passion—

Our heart-place is replaced,

With the purity of butterfly wings,

Even on days we feel disgrace—

For as long as we ache, life will always

Be a maze—an amazing world of

Wonderment we behold.

Silence is the cause of delusion

And merriment. It is the pavement

On introverted streets—it is both

Disdain and hope—it is rebirth and death,

It is sad and a gift—a gloomy life

And a constant restrain. It is the most

Distinct flaw and a saving grace.
      DannYetman
www.yetmanoetry.blogspot.com