Somedays, there's not much to say.
Words have no meaning,
Fail to translate
the quagmire of ruminations
that slither themselves into knots
like contortionist Cnidaria.
Somedays, thoughts are too scattered.
Ideas have no weight,
Float in a pit
so infinitely void of substance
they dissipate in the vortex
of a star extinguished to black.
Somedays, it's too much to express.
Truth remains buried,
Trapped in a maze
of deaf and numb cacophony
in the echo of the silence
no one can hear in the absence.
Somedays the prophecy is mute...