Erase this most wretched silence,
cut from my breast its vain heart,
’til wound shall but ghastly bleed,
and leave stain upon tender flesh.
Make then a wretched stall of me,
that my breath shall but bleed of it,
and turn my voice not to silent stain,
‘ere shall I word myself to its decay.
Lessen words, as they are too brazen,
lessen breath, as ’tis too heavy within,
make more a rampant stillness attend,
and leave me not aside from its reach.
Let this silence now be its own remorse,
as I have held it for too long sustained,
tear from my breast its burdened weight,
that my voice be more than mere words.