Tinge of Words

These words are shadows of their meaning,
slight compulsions riding the river of monotony:
deriving nothing and wantonly clambering through ineptitude.
Affirmation withers,
understanding confounds itself,
meaning is an abrasive compilation of sporadic thoughts
rummaging through the caverns of negligible minds,
and I am the prophet of incoherency
here at the servitude of a lei of mottled feelings,
wearing the garland of the unutterable,
beguiling reason to my confines.
Assonance of speech speaks naught,
furtive silence teaches more wisdom in confusion;
and yet, stertorously I impugn the sense of truth
for my own means;
even so, I will not take that which eludes the tinge of words.