I can hear the nurses over the din That is my blood in my ears, Coursing through these veins as if on fire.
I can hear them say "He's struck dumb, Poor man, gave the boys all he had, All that's left, of course, is a wordless bag of bones, And broken heart".
I can hear them frivolously care for the others I cannot see, Whose names, are to me, little anchors that weigh me To reality, like a nail in the ground holds a kite down To keep it from breaking free.
I am silent, struck dumb
Why can't the thoughts that swirl in my mind like mist Materialize into words and sentences so that a living eye can read them, So that a living ear can hear them, as they flow from my mouth In little indeterminate streams, That can remind me that the world exists beyond what I have seen.