the voice that lost it's sound
 

There was a man
Whos shyness became a decease.
It ate him up and spat him out
Until only half of him was left to be seen.

And this half grew afraid
Of the world in all its wonder.
So built itself a shell
That it could hide under.

And soon his mouth healed up
As the silence worked its charm
And before he could protest
His voice had lost its sound

His head grew so dizzy
And his heart grew so heavy.
That he could not move anymore
And became rooted to the ground.

One day his anger swelled up so much
He thought hed surely break.
But suddenly in his hand he found
He held a magic wand.

Fore when he wrote with the wand
It herd the thoughts in his head,
And laid them down on the paper
All ready, to be ready.

So he wrote a word.
And another, and another.
Until hed made a sentence.
And another, and another.
Till hed formed a paragraph.
And another, and another.
Until hed filled a page.
And another, and another.
Until hed written a book.
And another, and another.

And on and on he went
Morning, noon and night.
With nothing to eat,
Without any sleep,
Writing with all his might.

And the weight hed carried lifted
Becoming a glorious bird.
Flying over rooftops,
Soaring into the air.

And with every letter he set down
A part of himself grew.
And before long he was whole again,
No longer one half of two.

But his hand grew weary
And his fell shut,
As his body fell into a sleep so deep
That he couldnt wake himself up.

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