The sound my thoughts make
when I sit alone
is enough to make even a mute
SCREAM
with the agony of so much passion
such violence in the action
of having these ideas
but what do I do with them?
Nothing!  I do nothing!
I wait and I wait and it all comes to nothing
a nothing fitting of my inaction
all my passion dies before it is born
because of the silence left
between my dreams
this intrusive silence
pervasive even as I hate it
because it points out my iniquities
ever place I have ever gone wrong
I hate it
and I understand it
because it shapes me
makes me better
though I do not deserve it