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To Speak the Unspoken

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Everything I want to say
is trapped beneath my tongue,
unveiled behind my eyelids
and unspoken when I've sung.
Everything I need to say
is useless to me now.
My words are withered dead
and have left without a sound.
Everything I do say
is a clean scrambled mess,
an accurate description
of what I now have less.
But I've learned to smile when I sing
and open up my eyes,
as my words bubble on my tongue,
and spill forever into the skies.





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