Empires

Photo Credit: rebeca-cygnus at deviantart.com

I have built
an empire of words
carved and excavated
from the bottom
of this place
I call a soul,
and they still
boil and churn
below my lucid skin
waiting to be stacked
against your ears.
They stand stoic
in their line of doubt
and place crowns
on ignorant folly,
and I can’t stop building.
Mortar covers my hands,
sticks to my fingers,
drives grit under my nails,
and the wall towers.
The tips tangle
with the clouds
and create endless shadows
made of memory.
This castle
of lines and phrases
blinds the world from sun,
submerges the flocks in black.
People wade
in my kingdom of letters,
my empire of words,
and you are on your island
in the silence of the light,
your ears the only ones
empty of my voice.