Sonnet Poem by William LouisDreyfus

How wise it was for whoever invented speech
to make no string of words able to reveal
the truth that hides in each of us for each.
Look how ably my explanations conceal
the breed and color of my true intent.
The truth that squirms and begs to be declared
needs more than words before it's shown and spent.
Yet it's not in silence that the truth is aired:
sounds corral meaning words cannot contain.
Long moan, slight sigh, and shriek are speeches made
that string whole lists of things no words can name.
The feel of feeling is not in words portrayed.

Still, if I were to touch your soft hand and cheek,
I would, like Herrick, be compelled to speak.