The Bankrupted Silence

Silence is golden The platinum preferred Rarity, scarcity A giant padlock clinking At my neck Selling out a bit at a time Left rotting in the pantry Speak no evil Speak not one treacherous word Instructions, destruction A word pulling fiercely at us Around the waist Pulling from pedestal to pillar-box Left gangrenous and stained in ink A slight whisper Or birdsong played with volume down Above traffic, under and graphic A slight hum, coming closer, a pair of rusty sheers At the throat Stopped in motion, a speaker torn apart Left roaring vacuous slander in total silence Silence is golden Precious gifts in boxes made of ivory Value, I tell you Is quite worth the sleepless nights And the hands Dripping on mute, repetition looping Left as a reminder, do not bankrupt my bunker