There Are No Words

Rather in contrast to my earlier post today, this is a poem that was born from a thought I had in poetry class (about half an hour ago), in response to a line in another poem: "A poem should be wordless/as the flight of birds" (from "Ars Poetica" by Archibald Macleish). So here it is: "There Are No Words."

I can't speak- I choose not to.
There is so much I could say, but
there are no words.
He doesn't deserve them.
No.  That's not true.
I don't deserve to speak them.
The fury, filling my soul--
No.  It's irritation, mild and petty.
There should be no words:
Nothing should be born out of this
petty frustration.
The words that don't yet exist
outside of my mind
slowly fade away, and with them
the scowling monster,
the monster that furrows my brow
pinches my lips into a line
muddies my heart.
Th monster of petty irritation dies,
and in its place live
the spirit of peace, of forgiveness.
I look at him, my brow smoothing,
lips relaxing into a smile,
heart filling with joy--with love.
And as I look at him...
There are no words.