Here I sit.
With words locked behind frozen lips.
I know what there is to say.
But could I? Should I? Would I?
I am inert.
Waiting for external force
To force my hand.
Waiting for a script, a prompt, a cue.
And in the meantime, there's nothing for me to do.
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So many words left unsaid,
Secured behind the panes of glass --
Our eyes.
Some so crystal clear they beg
Others to beckon them with a simple look
Of Inquiry.
And still there remain
Those words we lock away,
Enveloped in shadow,
Ensnared in secrecy.
These precious words we hide
Hibernating till someone dares
To coax them out of darkness
And breathe into them new life;
Reborn in piercing rays of light.
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