It is said silence is virtuous, but silence is dead; my mouth will speak of my heart's unspoken words that are read.
The thoughts that spread never end, they louden till deaf, leaving meaning unsaid. These words that take space, they never descend; just build and build and brace up their sent.
The sent is never spent, the rent is paid in vent; only tomorrow knows, if vacancy is lent. Tomorrow is better, more is available then; only to be filled once more with silence and words that never end. Dead silence is the outcome, dead silence is the same end.
11/5/15
Abraham Jaggernauth
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem