As I Become One With the Silence

As cryptic as the Sphinx, stoned in silence stiff,

I've sung my monody, until my throat as gritty as sand

Became, and thickly crusted with wormwood, gruff and bitter.

One song I sang, just one.

With clenched fingers, then, in dust I've scribbled it upon the dying leaves,

The words unclear, the music gone; and on my knees I've patiently waited

Silence hungrily consumes us, and we forget.