Why can't I speak words of gold, provoking thought words that settle in the mind words that are right. I choke on perfect words they twist and distort until no longer beautiful mundane. simple. plain. My tongue stops the poetry of thought silver, liquid and lyrical turns choppy, harsh the ears wince. I want a tongue of silver but all I have is lead. Or the words tumble out like a river overflowing its banks uncontrolled, messy, meaningless I want people to listen to be burned I want to create a fire of speech and writing consuming all who encounter it but all I have created are dying embers and ash