It is decidedly heartbreaking that the only place I can enjoy this clarity is in the solitude of my own ideas, because lost in translation is all the length of nuance i used to tie together the meanings. You know the ones, the meanings that remain clear and hardy,
Even after trudging through forests of personal thought and being blinded by the brightness
Out in the open.
The meanings that stay solid
Through the foggiest of passive placements.
Still staying true to logic regardless of the rules that have tied me down,
Rites of rueful faces make me think there is some responsibility by means of Man.
But I hold true to no one now,
Senseless as it is to make the clarity I have claimed as my sanctitude,
I will fight for the hope that my discourse remains my own.
I have made sense of silence because the futility of translation has frustrated me;
nothing sounds the same at the other end,
as it did when I screamed it into the beginning.