Our voices are numb The black sun creeps unwillingly across a myriad stars— There is silence in twinkling… In burning, in hating! Silence seeps through the grass balming our cacophonic lives— creating calm, caustic euphony of hope and a contradictory despair. The clock cannot be heard But it ticks… Life slips into a labyrinth of purple twilight. Twilight does not speak… Our eyes are still The wall is rigid, and the clock’s stuck—shattered. The dials are haywire in the tormenting silence, the room is dumb, reason has turned blind There can be no speech No return: just suffocation and an anesthetized passion. Life runs on without the usual drone of its less than one horsepower steamless engine: life is silent in its fetid hopelessness…