Failure to Communicate
By agnosticnun
- 66 reads
In transformation, as when I felt
Jagged spikes grow from flesh
Or turn concrete, or melt.
With only whim to hold back
That most discordant wish
That even once expressed
Never could now finish
Last sound become mob's hubbub.
Turning me further inward.
As if it's the lack of language.
But if there were words and I could reshape the marred
Dialectic for depression
I could walk up to a stranger
Offer a sentence and see
Face fill with hate or maybe despair.
But these words only shame.
If art is indeed communication,
Then continued existence must be
A profoundest violation
Of aesthetic.
And it's not as though I want horror,
Or for every being I meet to lose that sense of balance,
The fitness in life. Only for a moment of candor.
To believe that it was possible.
Even thus made visual my fragmenting and folly
Reborn like a bird broken from the nest
So bright as that image that presses upon me,
With a silence violated
Postscript years' quietude –
There might then be glimpsed on the gathered faces
Some flickering empathic response, crude,
To what I had become. But it wouldn't translate.
Image by Marina Nunez - Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=65932992
Note: I posted a version of this before, unpublished to edit, and now can't figure out where is the original. So it's a repost.
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