They call me “Wordless.”

I see a haze of white,
Of silver,
Deep green reaches
Of wild cerulean,
Glittering turquoise,
Hushed blue marine…

I long to lose

The self they see
Between those rapturous folds and
Underlays of untouched

Cast far from arms, long
To find
The self
I seek:

Angel; Lion.

Then I would soar
And roar, stop striving to
Tear meaning out of
Silence like a saturated
Gag from a heart that will
Not beat or resurrect
The waves that I have
Shattered, while they still
Name me Wordless.

Forgive me:

I am an ash-black sheep, climbing
And falling into a void
Field, naked, lost,
Unseen. Meanwhile, my eyes
Shiver through their requiems
For concealed sleep.

And my winged reflection, lying
Face-down in the distant air, is
Stretching deep into the epicenter of oblivion.

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