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.