Beneath my vision it weeps to be released
but is a prisoner behind pearly gates, the
key never within reach. Teased in essence
of breath,but incoherent on the whimsical
yearnings that is evading it timely release.

Screams fall as gestures on inanimate thoughts,
but these wonderings are a façade of what
features imitate to release. But even palms on
an unforgiving throat, throttling the necessity  
to release upon unhearing perceptions.

Silence is a virtue of unconditional control,
It yearns just one outcast verbal uttering.
But all is withheld in the abysmal threshold
of suffocation. To gesture a word upon the
world is erratic in its oblivious wanting's.

But still it deflowers its being, as what resides
is rendered useless in the palms of its predecessor.
And silent screams venture in tears as they collide
with this appendage of its prison, flickering in
Movement as if tears were spoken then stillness.

What are screams of silence but fear not worthy
of expulsion, but a tether of a mind consummated
what is now writhing in over whelming ecstasy.
Trapped in utter oblivion never to be rendered in
Vocal liberation but to stay forever inhibited within.

"I am silence,
"I am what is unheard,
"But all will hear my deafening,
"Though not uttered my features will expel,
"And all will read my silence,
*"Even though no syllable  is uttered censorship are my words,