Not Much To Say

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...

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