The concrete jungles sprawl before him,
The skies are gray, the dusk hues- dim,
The tired birds return to their nests,
The young man decides to sit...he rests..
The finite, enclosing world talks and sings,
The temples' words echo in psychotic rings,
Laughter and pain resounding in closed huts,
He has something to say...his mouth is shut.
The weakening sense of strength disarms him,
Residing in a mythical, self-mighty whim,
His exterior is strong, the inner world weak,
An ubiquitous dilemma...yet, he won't speak..
His thoughts reflect back from sealed lips,
Painful words in a haven of a smiling eclipse,
His lips quiver...a lump in his throat,
Maybe..he's finally sinking his silent boat..
Alas, the hopeful oasis of talk is a dry mirage,
His brain's encountered with an innate, oral barrage,
His muted expressions facing a nervous burial,
The man's real...his silence-- unreal.
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