(no subject)

There is no way to say I cannot speak:
the very abnegation self-negates.
Words tangle, tumbled down like wooden gates
rotting on hinges too stiff to even creak
as gusts tug through the homestead above the creek,
abandoned like the stone walls to their fates
of silence and decay and endless waits
for one more beam to break down late next week.
Yet silence, golden or consenting, will
perpetuate its cause; hushes stay hushed,
hard to hack through. Blocked off from the south,
the empty house is overgrown with brush
that blooms in spring and glories autumn still:
a way of happening, an empty mouth.

(no subject)

There is no way to say I cannot speak:
the very abnegation self-negates.
Words tangle, tumbled down like wooden gates
rotting on hinges too stiff to even creak
as gusts tug through the homestead above the creek,
abandoned like the stone walls to their fates
of silence and decay and endless waits
for one more beam to break down late next week.
Yet silence, golden or consenting, will
perpetuate its cause; hushes stay hushed,
hard to hack through. Blocked off from the south,
the empty house is overgrown with brush
that blooms in spring and glories autumn still:
a way of happening, an empty mouth.