Deafening Ambience

To speak or, not to speak, that is the question;

Whether my loud words stay fixated in their heads,

Creating opportunities for conversation threads

Or my silence lingers through the room

Where my presence no longer seems to loom.

I wonder, does my opposition matter when heard?

Perhaps when I speak my voice is slurred,

Because of the few times I actually contribute to the act with those among,

It’s as if I speak in an foreign tongue.

Oh! How restless this inquiry be!

To ponder of the infinite significance my words can deem

Or the definite insignificance my dry silence may scheme

Leaving the deafening ambience ringing

I fear, if I fall short on my speech my words will faltar upon scrutiny

Therefore, let my silent speech foster pure mutiny.