You sit on your silence, running your thoughts through the pigmentation of constructive epiphany – the best harvest of your imaginative invention after years of weak mental erection to reclaim marginal redemption.
For if there is no doubt when you look to yourself, there are doubts when you look to the government and your countrymen.
You sit on your silence, with your fate trapped down your feet and your trust,
Lingering on the pendulum of discordance,
With wrapper tied around your waist,
Slowly breaking lose to fetch air into your rumps,
Marijuana wrapped to perfection, nostrils exuding sweet smoke, broadening your lethargic conviction.
You only sat on your silence.
You’re sitting on your silence, the market is empty, your stock-up was all fiction, the emptiness of your stomach drums like the sound of rain, whilst the clouds sat on your roof, sending you thunderous downpour. You sat on your silence, discounting your matriculated impediments – a hostile contraption of your implacable reality.
You’re sitting on your silence, with a flattened reserve and the king says you must live. His proclamation has no remedy, you’re not captured in the scheme of survival, nobody is really otherwise we get drowned in the penkelemes of draughts. You have not told the right story because the state is not a care-giver by her testimony because she never stood up for us in the context of dignity.
You’re sitting on your silence, waiting for the ingress of baskets from the state whose empathy came as a pseudo-medicine to your soul but the black uniformed illiterates say you can’t move an inch to access the state’s remedy. They’re the true casualties of the state’s policy but let’s say they are subordinate progressives for the sake of peace, for their loyalty may count for them as providence is intensely absorbing.
You’re sitting on you silence,
But before sundown today,
Tell them you will break this silence
And gather the remnant of it as the broken particles of your dreams and offer it to the state, let them make a story of it or a monument of hope.
Call the town-criers and the cock to make a proclamation that on this day you broke it all while you sat on your silence.