Thoughts flew around like cannonballs in the empty spaces within his head,
thudding into the walls that created the order; brick by brick that he had built,
tearing out chunks of stone in some and leaving gaping cracks in others instead,
threatening the precarious balance of sanity that seemed to be held up on stilts.
The only outlet, the words he would have spoken; the feelings they expressed,
but there was none around; no warm inviting, open glances he could even trust,
for miles around all was desolate and barren; a silent graveyard that stretched,
where every word spoken disappeared into the mist of silence and turned to dust.
And so the demons that he had hid away carefully behind the walls broke through,
and roamed unchained through the alleys of his mind leaving darkness in their wake,
forcing their way to his conscious like bubbles rising on the surface of the swamp do,
their pungent and cloying odor similar to the swamp gas; a thirst no drink could slake.
His eyes the only sign of the raging battle inside; dark tunnels that led deep down,
to the fiery volcano that burned within; fueled by the thousands of words unspoken,
riveted and tacked down under layers of concrete constraints laid over time unknown,
that were now steadily giving way; breaking loose and letting the lava flow unbidden.
Oh for that luxury of the words that could be spoken; willingly sent into the open,
the satisfaction of a thought expressed; an impulse given into whenever it occurred,
and the joy of someone to share with; that could listen and maybe understand even,
the one that could cast away his inner demons and maybe even heal his soul battered.