“Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion’s paws,
And make the earth devour her own sweet brood;
Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger’s jaws,
And burn the long-lived phoenix in her blood;” –Quotation from Sonnet 19 by William Shakespeare.
Afore the affliction of past perfection,
By all the mires and their intent,
I’ve met so many long ago—profusion grinned,
And as the stems of the trees and their pale skin,
I’d acclaim that I am dull, and I am.
For that estuary wept, with its mouth tapering,
Tapering into wrinkled sheets and disturbing,
Disturbing the transgressions of sense (and sense display us),
Of the purporting inward jest—still as the inhalation while we talk,
And still, it may be, purporting only as inward
The fall of speech, the fall of patois.
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Pseudopsychosis. 
The fall of speech is something dreadful. I should know. I talk basically 24/7 lol
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Ditto. Haha. Anyway, I was referring in the poem about when there is nothing really worth saying in the particular moment, therefore the last line.
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Yes, but when there’s nothing worth saying, the things that are said are trivial and needless, in which case the words spoken are empty. That is very dreadful 😛
But, ironic I should be saying this, because I’m trivial a lot of the time lol
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I agree, that is dreadful. I would rather not say anything at all in a situation like that–it would be, well, worthless for everyone including myself. Lol.
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I would prefer not to speak, either. But then I would speak because I can’t help myself 😛
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