In my eyes swim the swallowed tears of a millennia,
the masticated dreams of the Truth-seekers
whose fantasies keep me awake at night,
their mottled cries scratching at my ears
(perhaps that’s why I sleep-talk).

And I lie there watching as silence slips away
embarrassed by the play-ground like sounds
that the dreamers make.
And I lie there wondering if it will ever come back to me-
not sadly or regretfully,
just lying there laconically wondering,
wondering if the silence will come back to me.