By: Ryan Beodeker
There are no words to be said.
No golden melody,
in brazen brutish chorus to be sung.
Though no funeral marches here,
the signs of sadness far off the horizon here.
There is no fear here.
No pain or anguish.
The tides simply gone with the lyrics,
the drought of thought to continue.
Even in this there are no words to be said.
When other times the messages of unread words,
the very story that we all are trying to tell,
this code in which the heart is hidden.
That which has given us such great strength,
the bright light of sunshine,
the very words that have been read.
That still lacks words. There are none left to be said.
Maybe a lackluster sentence could be spared.
Perhaps, if approached with the right tone.
If the heart still can beat,
then maybe blood can flow,
through the veins,
into arteries,
rushed with oxygen to the weary head.
Revive me, may I no longer be dead.
From you, gifted here, a few words to be said.
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