SILENCE

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Words and the body always have been much pain to me,
Little fetters and drags on immensities
Never to be defined. I am done with these.
Meanings of silence suddenly all grow plain to me.
Something still may sing like a joyous flute in me
Out of the life that dares to be voiced aloud,
But speech no more shall swathe like a burial-shroud
Things unencompassable now eloquent-mute in me.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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