Is it true?

That my words are now spilt- broth pushed against the brim,
Liquid to big for its container-gracelessly,
it mimics the wild
of unbound tides.
Wherein a fleeting salvation; is oh so frantically exempt-
Its within my linguistic inability
lies my failure's false contempt.

The mundane English word was once my spell to cast
An arsenal of adjectives & repertoire of verbs.
Yet in English its still heard,
communication's magic,
Wielding the awe of expression-  Cured-
I try to print back into begin

again.