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Words fall like tears from the eyes
of self professed saints.
I had had no recollection
of asking it be so.

Words fail the Truth,
stretched over gaping jars,
liberties of nulification
until they all mean the same
to the specimens inside.

I had prayed for Truth
and spoke the Word
so many times that it
became meaningless
sound without feeling,
Just jibberrish
cast upon the dung heap
of ill intention.

I put down my pen
for the words seemed unfit
and my thoughts unexpressed.
...and the Silence wrote sonnets
and soliloquies and prose
and scriptless scripts;
carved sculptures out of the nothingness,
painted the sky.

In the magic of the carpet
I could not utter a word,
for days
for the meaning had truly faded
and in it's place
the vivid landscape
without a voice.

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