To the Deaf Firmament

All I want to say is that by openning my mouth
I let my troubles come out
In a language I don't understand
Or would care to speak at all

Indeed I'd say I'm not apt to tell tales
And so shouldn't say said troubles aloud
Which is to say that I hate the idea of a language with sounds

Why should I have to belt out my troubles through the poorest of mediums
Devoid of pictures and thoughts
Only mere blocks of text cannot talk
Or make faces that tell me if I've been understood or not

Cling though I would to spelt words, seemingly clear
I found they only meant nothing
Nothing to ears too timid to hear
Like yours or mine or the world's

It's impossible, then,
To convey what I might in a sentence
Or millions, endless at that

I can say to you now that it's God who knows what I seek or see
Through eyes that see not pictures but words-
Words that are from a language too good to be true

Over the next hurl of the world, by ways of darkness to visions of light-
Visions cast from stars brighter than human riots at night-
Riots that never end because they can't see one by one as angels fall for them
To crimson deaths in shadows where bad things lurk
To eat what's left (of what's left) of what's called earth
'Till the firmament that's blue and black and silver
Falls into the hands of another man and all the hosts of hell burn