Whispers of the Mind

Waiting

Must I lie silent?
Within a sound proof shroud
of solitude my tongue remains at rest.
While I watch and wait for nothing,
thinking on occasion that if nothing is indeed a thing to be waited on,
then must not nothing be something?
Thus waiting for nothing devoid of
something will be very long indeed.

And I sit.
Silently chuckling within the sea of ironies in my mind.
My mind, my safe and humble home.
It is in this dreamscape of a kind that my chaos can form order in its dance.
Its feet tap and hands clap,
to a rhythm of glorious and sensible anarchy.

And yet the dance must stay within.
For I am silent;
no words have escaped their cells of fire as of yet.
It burns and burns and yet I must not speak.
Its torture is the one most painful thing.

But never fear,

for it will soon be time to sing.