Mute

Mute I cut the chords from my throat, Presenting them as a Gift in homage to the Gods of the citidel, burying my Resentment with the Bones of my ancestors. I ripped the nerves from my face, Offering my apathy to the Wraiths that would prey on the Bitterness of mute lamentation . I tore the veins from my arm, Freeing the hidden Tears that flowed like a Creek over my Wrist and into silver phial. I dipped my quill in the phial And let the Shadows hear the Sound of my voice. © Nathan A. Brock